


Rely On Me

by ASiriusAuthor (KkGgINoU)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Sorry Not Sorry, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 64,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KkGgINoU/pseuds/ASiriusAuthor
Summary: Harry Potter needed Severus Snape, from the moment that Lily Evans Potter fell to the floor in a flash of green light and sealed Harry’s life in love—that much was clear. What Severus Snape is more reluctant to admit, of course, is that the inverse is also true.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I read Harry Potter last year.  
That is all I can say.  
This has been a year in the making.  
I apologize for everything I am about to put you through.

Harry Potter’s life was sealed in love. It was so, since his mother fell to the floor at his cribside in a flash of green light. It was so, since his mother sacrificed herself for him and confounded the second-greatest wizard to ever live (second only, of course, to Albus Dumbledore). Harry had no knowledge of what happened… at least no one expected him to have an understanding of it. All they knew was that he was the Boy Who Lived. And he needed a place to stay.

Harry Potter needed a place to grow, and become a good wizard—a place that would welcome him into the world of magic, ease him into the reality of what he was intended to be.

The thing was, after a mere day’s observation of the Dursley family, who were Harry’s only living blood relatives, Minerva McGonagall made an executive decision. It was, of course, one that Severus Snape would criticize for the rest of his life (but then: No one really cared). Any life that Harry could have with the Dursleys was bound to be with conflict, fraught with anger and frustration and perhaps even a deep seated resentment or hatred. Either from Harry to them, or them to Harry, and that simply _wouldn’t do_ in the opinion of the Headmaster’s second-in-command. The Dursleys were indeed the _worst_ kind of Muggles. Chances were, they would never accept or understand Harry, unlike a startling number of other Muggle families (the Grangers, for example) who embraced their children even after magic began to manifest.

So Minerva McGonagall made an executive decision, and sent a patronus to Albus Dumbledore, beseeching him to find any place whatsoever _different_ to keep Harry during his formative years.

In later years it was a strange thing to think about, for Harry and his friends, that life for Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy could have been very, _very_ different. Had Harry Potter grown up in the Dursley house, one could assume that he might never have befriended Ron until later years of life—something that neither of them could even fathom. Hermione Granger might never have married Harry Potter: Another fantastic story, in the opinion of those involved. Draco Malfoy would never have had his own life sealed in love—something that he couldn’t understand _anyways_, but nonetheless still was grateful for. Severus Snape?... Well... Most people, including Minerva McGonagall and Harry Potter himself, thought that maybe, had Snape never met Harry Potter until the boy came to Hogwarts, things might not have turned out so _unbelievably_ unfortunate. Ron Weasley and Remus Lupin were more skeptical, of course... Though, Hermione, ever the scientist, believed that while some events stayed the same in potential alternative universes, others were indeed mutable.

At any rate, Albus Dumbledore still appeared on Privet Drive, and so did Hagrid in a flying motorcycle. Dumbledore still utilized the deluminator, and met the bespectacled tabby. The note, however, was a very different one than the Headmaster of Hogwarts had first intended to send. It read as follows:

_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive--_

_Please accept into your care for an as-of-yet-indeterminate time, Harry Potter, Lily Evans’ son. He is protected here by blood relation, but will not be required to remain except on your request, and will only be kept here until such time is fitting for him to be moved to more conducive arrangements._

_Albus Dumbledore _ _Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_


	2. Aftermath

For nine days, there was no word in or out of a small cottage in the English countryside. The cottage was hidden from view of laypeople, only visible if you were actually looking for it—of which, most people weren’t, as they believed that the entire area was nothing more than a forest.

The inside of the cottage was larger than it seemed to be from the outside, but was nonetheless a snug-looking affair. It looked to be comfortable perhaps for a man and his dog, or a woman, and her kneazle. As it stood, it was home to a man and a great snowy owl.

The owl generally, up until that week, came and went as it pleased, picking up mice and squirrels and… what the little elderly lady in the farm house next to the forest could have sworn were _scrolls of parchment_. But no one was ever sure. The little elderly lady was awfully hard of sight.

But for nine days after the disappearance of the second-greatest wizard to walk the earth, there was no word in or out of the little cottage. Even the owl, whose name was Jacques, refused to enter the house, taking his meals of squirrel and skunk to a nearby shed.

So the lone inhabitant of the cottage was in peace. Would he rather have had people to be with him, no one knew for certain. All that anyone knew was that the new Potions master of Hogwarts had absolutely shut himself in, and no one could get to him.

He sprawled on a couch listlessly, for the last three of those nine days. His legs were too long for the couch, and his feet draped over the arm rest. His books, which were usually kept clean and in their proper places, were strewn about the floor in stacks on the ground collecting dust. His potions and brewing supplies were locked in their cabinets as usual… but his most prized possessions, his books, were discarded like old clothes about the cottage. All of the books that were open or had their spines strained as they sat face down on the floor were about Dark Magic. All of the pages whose corners had been folded as place markers had something to do with the Killing Curse. Or Horcruxes. Or death. The afterlife, even. Or really anything at all to do with the idea of bringing back people from the dead, regardless of how utterly outlandish it was.

The man on the couch was entirely motionless as he lay with his left hand touching the floor and his right arm hooked around his head to cover his eyes… Except for once or twice every hour, when he gave a great shudder and a tormented wail resounded throughout the tiny cottage before the heavy silence would fall over the entire area once more. Only once did tears escape the heavy fabric of his sleeve, on the second day.

Day or night, it was the same thing, for three days. Finally, on the ninth day, he sat up and looked around at his cottage—his home. His eyes were red, but seemed hollow and had dark rings of sleeplessness hanging about them. His hair was greasy—it always had been, but now even more so, he supposed. His features were reduced, and his complexion sallow…. He picked up one of the books, looked at a page with a folded corner, and then gave an enraged howl before throwing the book towards the far wall—instead of hitting the wall, the book struck and broke a window as it flopped over into the bushes outside. The man buried his face in his hands and gave another shudder… and tears were streaming down his face again as he looked up and pulled out his wand, angrily hissing at the window, _reparo!_

He stood up, his cloak that had been draped over the couch in disarray following his shoulders in silky ease—like ink rising up a quill.

He went to the washroom, and filled a porcelain basin with water from the flowing well in the wall. He rinsed the salt away and tried to freshen up what little he could at that moment—he didn’t bother looking in the mirror—he knew what he would see: A broken man. He didn’t want to see that.

Upon stepping outside, he found the day to be perfect. It was strangely warm, and sunny, absolutely perfect in _every way other than the fact that he would never truly live again_.

He found a series of scrolls—likely an accumulation of three or four a day—piled up outside of his door.

He picked one up; it looked to be the earliest one, since it was on the bottom, and had been snowed on, and he unrolled it as he returned inside. It was in Dumbledore’s handwriting.

_Severus,_

_As you know, Lord Voldemort has fallen. Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily Potter is desperately in need of permanent lodgings. He is currently staying with Petunia and her family of Muggles at Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey. While this blood barrier is strong, as a connoisseur of Dark Magic you are surely aware of the stresses exerted on the blood ties, given Petunia’s…persuasion and history. Harry is in need of lodgings that can provide him with a permanent protection until he comes of age, and, while most can lay a part of a claim to him for no other reason than that he is the Boy Who Lived, Severus, I am aware that you are at present—_

Severus didn’t read any more of the letter, simply tossed the half-dried scroll into his fireplace.

He barely looked over the other envoys. Dumbledore, Dumbledore… McGonagall, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Dumbledore... And so on. The only one that caught his eye, that he did read most of the way through, was a rather distressing one from McGonagall… but nonetheless. All thirty four scrolls went into the fireplace. The last _three_ letters he received from McGonagall were Howlers, all of which he quickly defused to keep them from quite literally exploding in his face, before tossing them into the fireplace along with the others, where they continued to smoulder angrily at being ignored. Dumbledore, he was pleased to say, did not send him a Howler.

As much as he was loathe to admit it, had Dumbledore sent a Howler, he would have likely opened it, because he respected Dumbledore, and _not_ just because Dumbledore always put a tamper-proofing charm on his Howlers that McGonagall hadn't quite figured out yet... Until then, he could ignore McGonagall's Howlers.

He promptly lit his fireplace with a simple spell, watching for a moment as all the scrolls and the three Howlers from McGonagall burned to ash, and then flopped back over onto the couch, his face to the back and his dark eyes once again concealed by his arm.

Then there was a great pop—one that was unmistakable. Floo powder.

“Go _away_,” he snarled into the back of the couch as the great grey wizard stepped out of the fireplace. “I don’t want to speak to you!” If he hadn’t had been so angry, his voice would have cracked with emotion. It still did as it was.

The wizard from the fireplace simply shook his head. “I knew that you had a habit of burning your mail when it is from someone you do not wish to speak to, but I did not expect the habit to be so overreaching...”

Snape shot up from the couch, now in a duelling stance and unwisely pointing his wand at Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard to walk the earth.

“I said, _go away_,” He growled, his face betraying him as tears slid down his cheeks and desperation sounded in his voice.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, his voice as calming as it ever was.

“Cannot a man even _grieve _in the peace of his own home without people _flooing_ in and out as if it's platform nine-and-three-quarters?!”

Dumbledore said nothing, just looked at him sadly, with those clear blue eyes…

Snape paused for a few moments… then deflated, his wand arm falling to his side as he nearly collapsed to sit on the couch again.

Dumbledore walked to stand before him. “He needs you Severus,” he said simply. “You’re the only one I know.”

Severus gave a bitter laugh. “Because _Sirius_ is in Azkaban, and _Pettigrew_ is dead… I have to be the last on your list—whatever happened to _Lupin_? What about him?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “There was a brotherly affection, but also a reservation, even on Lupin’s part. Nothing so strong… nothing strong enough. You know it to be true. Don’t deny it.”

“But the boy doesn’t need protection _now_; the Dark Lord is _gone_.”

“The Dark Lord _will_ return. When he does... What happens to the boy?”

Severus looked down. “Surely there must be another… another way.”

Dumbledore tipped his head, and his great hat followed suit. “Why, certainly there is… if you would like Harry to be raised by Lily’s sister. We can simply say that there was a misunderstanding.”

Snape sighed lightly. Then quietly: “Was it true? What McGonagall said? That they would trample her memory?”

Dumbledore looked at him unblinkingly, as if to say, 'have you ever known Minerva’s instincts to be wrong?'

The younger man didn’t move for a few more moments. “I don’t _want_ to, Dumbledore. It was my fault as it was… that child is paying for _my_ mistake… what kind of life can that possibly be?...”

“You’re the only one who can.”

“_Their bodies are barely cold and you want to hand their child over to some stranger,_” Snape hissed in a quiet fury.

Dumbledore said nothing.

“_Well?_”

“Severus, you are the last person who would be a stranger to the Potters. You might have even been his blood—” his voice fell away.

_You meant to finish with ‘If you hadn’t called her a Mudblood’_, Snape thought, and a fresh round of tears traced down his cheeks. _It was all James’s fault. That’s probably what he wanted anyways_.

Dumbledore’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You can make your decision… preferably sooner than later, but I won’t rush you. I don’t want you to decide hastily. If nothing else, just go and observe the Dursleys, and how they react to him… then make your decision. I know very well that you are a man who will let logic and sensibility guide your decision. Send me an owl once you do. I’d need at least a day’s advance to warn the Dursleys if you did want to…. Well. Good day.”

With that, Dumbledore turned and tossed Floo powder into the fireplace. “Hog’s Head, Hogsmeade!”

With a flash of green light, Dumbledore was gone, leaving Snape alone in the middle of the room.

Severus stood there for a few more moments, his dark eyes narrowed into chips of obsidian. The last time he had seen a flash of green light…. He sighed.

_It won’t… it won’t hurt to look, just to see it_, his rational side argued. And still his mind complained and his body didn’t will it to be so.

Snape looked around at the books… he would take care of them later. He looked down at his robes…. Right now, he needed to draw a bath—if nothing but to relax.

He rubbed his eyes—he hadn’t slept in ten days. The second he had reached home after That Night, he pulled out all of the elixirs for strength and endurance that he had stored away, blended them in proper doses, and used most of them up for his vigil, all in one sitting. It was a practice that he had dubbed a 'Wake', but this was the first one he had done in years... easily since his NEWTs. For the first six days, he was researching any way of at least contacting Lily again, maybe bringing her back, but at least just to see her again… He had been sustained on nothing but the Wake potion for nine days… of course, it was now coming back down on him a thousand-fold for having used so much in so little time. He would liken it to an incident when he was sixteen and still living with his family, when he had dabbled in Muggle wares to keep himself awake (for reasons only he knew), and was promptly sent, not to St. Mungo’s but a Muggle health institution as he suffered from an overdose on what they called ‘amphetamines’…. This was certainly more mild than that; Muggles were insane if they made their strength potions so deadly… but nonetheless he felt the effects compound as the potion wore off—Drowsiness, hunger, thirst, a throbbing ache in every nook and cranny of his body… a misery that weighed on his chest and magnified his grief—the whole works.

So a hot bath certainly and then maybe some potion for dreamless sleep…

The washroom itself was attached to his bedroom, and it was lower into the foundation than the rest of the house—there was a small incline from his bedroom down into it—he thought that it quite gave the house a rustic feel, having much of it a part of the natural features of the plot of land…

He drew a bath in the tub that was carved into the stone that the house was built upon. The well had three mouths, two near each other, so one opening became a sink and the other became the bath. A natural plumbing was carved into the stone as well—he had practically built this house for himself, so he would know. The water was warmed by magic on command, and the well never really stopped flowing. It was convenient, and one of the things he found to support his simple life.

He walked to his bedroom, grabbed sleeping clothes. They were a dark grey—not much of a difference from his black robes that he wore all the time… but what did you expect, blue patterned pyjamas, or something? He certainly didn't sleep _naked_.

He sat on a bench next to the tub (the tub was really more of a depression in the stone, but still) and took his boots off… it felt like forever since he had. His feet were sore and protesting against him as he rested them on the cold stone. He carefully shed his cape, which fell from his shoulders into a pool of fabric like a puddle of ink, then the remainder of his clothes before sitting on the stone and easing into the almost-hot water.

It was _glorious_. Severus couldn’t help but sigh in contentment as he laid there, the water almost up to his chin, and simply let the water warm him. He moved his arms through the water, trying to work out the stiffness that came with taking too much Wake potion in one sitting, and from lying listless on a couch for three consecutive days.

He moved to a kneeling position, and allowed the water to fall onto his head and shoulders. He tipped his head up, holding his mouth open so he could drink. The water was clean and hot and almost-sweet… and his thirst was so intense… he couldn’t imagine how Muggles survived without things like this. The simple pleasures in life—drinking from one’s own well.

He continued to kneel there for a little while longer, just to allow his shoulders to relax, and the water to cleanse him. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the practice of soaps, however it was a consequence of the artesian well that he never decided to use legitimate soap— at least not the Muggle kind. For the most part, Severus simply used hot water and some natural soaps that could be distilled from berries and were safe for the well, that wouldn’t damage it with harsh chemicals.

Indirectly a consequence of this—the soaps that he did use were not quite so efficient at cleansing hair. Thus, an unfortunate casualty—his hair never felt quite _clean_. But it didn’t matter much to him. His hair was always—and always had been—greasy, regardless of what he did to prevent it from being so.

Snape stood from his bath some forty minutes of relaxation later, and the water automatically drained itself as the well returned to running cold…

He dressed himself in his sleeping garments, and used his wand to instruct his day clothing into a more acceptable state after a small bit of conniving and magic before walking back into his bedroom.

Severus draped his clothing neatly over a chair before going to a small cabinet and taking a sip of Potion of Dreamless Sleep. It was, of course, likely only four or five in the afternoon, but at this point he didn’t care. He put the potion back, then near-collapsed into his bed, exhaustion finally overtaking him.


	3. Intuition

Severus must not have taken quite enough of the potion, because he woke up the next day at 7:03 AM feeling like he’d just been _crucio_ed, several times over.

He rolled out of bed, groaning as he did so. All of his muscles screamed violently at him in protest, and in his temples a splitting headache pounded away at the last vestiges of today's happiness. Hunger gnawed at him like an animal, and he was still thirsty.

He groaned again as he stood up straight. This was his punishment for abusing himself so, and taking pick-me-ups to get him through it. As if staying awake for ten days straight after his lone childhood friend had died wasn’t punishment enough already....

He quickly got dressed and went to the kitchen so that he could get food, ignoring the aches and cramps that tried to prevent him from doing so... It didn't matter much to him—it probably should have mattered more, but it didn't.

He had experienced pain before, at the hands of his father, the Marauders, Voldemort, the other Death Eaters, and (on occasion when he was young and careless and very foolish) at his own hand, even, when he was testing spells and accidentally _Sectumsempra_ed his own arm, or... or _something_ of the sort. Snape suddenly and inexplicably appearing at Madam Pomfrey's with grievous, inexplicable, only-partially-healed wounds in his arms or legs was an occurrence that happened at least seven times after young Snape's OWLs (usually after holidays, when Snape returned home), but after the third incident Dumbledore showed considerable concern for Severus's safety during the latter's school days.

He'd even been _crucio_ed by Lord Voldemort and by his fellow Death eaters on more than one occasion—it wasn't a terribly common occurrence, because he was considered a very _good_ Death Eater, even more than the older Lucius Malfoy.... but it was something that happened often enough that he trained himself never to scream. Although, he suspected that he had already learned that, courtesy of his drunken, violent Muggle of a father.

Hence, Severus Snape was no stranger to pain. In fact, as he would often think later, Suffering was a very old friend of his, and Misery was a cruel mistress who wrapped sensual arms around him in a comfortless embrace.

Severus had managed to put together a solid breakfast (technically several— he could duplicate it as needed) to sate his deep-seated hunger. He ate at almost the same speed and almost continuously for an hour before he began to feel like a human being again.

Thanks to the magical penalties that came along with the Wake potion, the food was almost instantly metabolised and began restoring him to a healthy appearance. Well. Healthy for him, anyways. He was still as sallow as he ever was, but he wasn't so thin or weak-looking, and his cheeks had somewhat filled out again. In addition, he felt as if he could actually do something, instead of lying listless all day. Not that it wouldn't still be difficult to get up the drive to do something today, because the mental aspect of the potions' magical penalty was still weighing heavy on him—a deep-seated sadness that seemed to drag at every move that he made... although it was hard to tell at this point what was definitely just side-effects, and what was just him being... him. Severus Snape, with all the usual issues.

_Damned potion withdrawals_, his mind grumbled at him as he finished the food and began cleaning up. Then the rational side of him spoke up. _You asked for it, taking all of it at the same time._

He cleared away his dishes with the use of copious amounts of spells, because he was feeling too lazy to do the dishes any other way and he had no house-elf to speak of. He didn't trust the little devils, and he really didn't like them all that much as beings who could see his every action, even if they were sworn to secrecy. The best way to keep a secret was to keep it to yourself.

Severus went about his cottage, tidying up for some time. He didn't use spells to tidy up his books—he had done this damage to his precious books by his own destructive self, and for that it was only fitting that he do it himself. Besides, it was therapeutic to pick up the books, to look at them, look at the spells on the pages.... then to close them again, and accept the past. He picked up every book gently, using carefully whispered _reparo_ spells to make certain that the bindings and pages were not damaged in his fits of rage and grief that has rocked the cottage in the past ten days. He distinctly remembered at some nebulous point in the past that there were bright flashes of Dark Magic and unpractised necromancy proceeding from his own wand. It was quite an interesting last ten days. Luckily the books seemed unharmed—no pages had been ripped out, the bindings were intact, the spines were a little beaten, but that was to be expected. The one book that he had sent flying through the window yesterday was an ancient study into the nature of Horcruxes.... he retrieved it from the bushes and carefully brushed away any debris that had fallen onto the leather cover before putting it away.

The cottage was finally clean again. The books were back in their places and the dust was gone. Now what to do?....He hastily scribbled a message to Dumbledore, and went outside to find a beautiful fall day—considerably cooler than yesterday... bad winter this year. By now, it looked to be about noon. He trilled a few notes (two short low notes and a long high one) in the still silence. Jacques the great snowy owl immediately came back to rest on his arm.

Quite frankly, there were other, worse dangers to Snape's forearms than stray _Sectumsempra_ spells these days, and Snape was glad that he had trained Jacques to only grasp his arm as tightly as was needed to stay upright; otherwise he might have needed to become a licensed healer, just to negate the damage his pet owl would do to him on a daily basis.

“Jacques,” he said, and punctuated it with another note, of medium duration and tone. The owl worried one of his wing feathers in only mild interest. Snape gave the message to his owl, and then whistled another several notes: two short high notes, and two short low notes, and then one long and medium. The owl leaned over, and tipped his head at the wizard as if he understood perfectly well, then took off towards Hogwarts.

Snape paused to think about what he had just sent to Dumbledore.

_Albus,_

_I have not decided yet. I will observe the Dursleys today, and make my decision by no later than noon in two days' time. I was under the influence of vigil potions when I last saw you, and I beg patience and your forgiveness for my foolish brashness._

_Severus_

He'd probably gotten himself into more trouble than it was worth, but no matter.

Meanwhile, the little elderly lady who lived in the farmhouse next to the forest yelled at her son-in-law to come and see the owl with a scroll of parchment tied to its foot...

Snape stood there for some time, partly regretting his decision. Then he decided that he better make good on his word and go to.... what was it Dumbledore had said, Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey.

The first matter of business was an invisibility cloak—not a particularly fantastic one, just enough to do the job, and one that he had with him at easy access down in his cellar. Or course, he usually didn't bother—sneaking around beneath a cloak of invisibility always seemed a bit low to him. If he was going to sneak around, he was going to do it _without_ cheating.

Now the second order of business was obviously going to be a firewhisky. He quickly disapparated from his house to Hogsmeade, and dropped into Hog's Head for the glass of spirits. Or two.

He strolled out of Hog's Head with a pleasant, comforting numbness blanketing his thoughts and a familiar confidence in his chest after planting two galleons down on the table.

Without another word, he disapparated to Privet drive. He couldn't, of course, disapparate into the house or anything of the sort—the blood wards refused that. He could, however, disapparate to the doorstep, if his intentions were not malicious, that much he knew about a blood ward.

He wasn't able to watch much.... what he could see was that Petunia for one was still just as much of a hag as she could be without _actually_ being inhuman. She was still prying from the safety of her curtains, still with those beady eyes and wretched form—even more decrepit than himself.

Severus also spied a child in the middle of the living room floor, half obstructed by Petunia but the Dursleys' boy, obviously. James was not that bulky, Severus would have assumed, at any point in the wizard's all-too-short life, and those blank, dull eyes were not reminiscent of Lily's at all. For that was what Dumbledore had said, that Harry looked much like his father, but had his mother's brilliant eyes. For that matter, this child was a straw-haired, toe-headed blonde, almost like a Malfoy, and it seemed highly unlikely that James had so much as the capability to create a child with either of those characteristics.

Still, Severus stood there, watching Petunia watch the overly-mundane Muggle neighbours until she left the window, and strolled outside with the child and a purse in tow, for what reason he neither knew, nor cared at all. He was easily able to sneak inside given that she had absolutely no idea whatsoever what was going on. From there, he decided to inspect the house, to see if it might be a good fit for a future wizard.

It was about as Muggle as one could possibly get—in a way it reminded him of his own childhood home, where magic was unfortunately suppressed, he noted with a jolt of painful memories. In fact, it was unbelievably Muggle-ish. He figured it was for the best—best if Harry not be particularly acquainted with the world that caused the deaths of his parents.

Despite the fact that he was invisible, he still took the utmost care not to disturb anything, nary even to disturb the dust. Even while visible, Snape was only ever a shadow, gliding from place to place silently like a great big blot of ink that managed to move on its own accord. He ultimately found himself exploring much of the house.

However, and this was not because of the glasses of firewhisky he had chosen to drink before he came here, he found evidence of only _one_ child living with the Dursleys, and that was obviously one by the name of 'Dudley', by the embroidery on a bib he found hanging in the kitchen.

Even among Muggles, who the hell would even have _embroidered bibs_?

_Dumbledore did send the boy to the right place; he didn't misread any of the street signs or anything, correct?_ Severus mused to himself worriedly as he still found no sign of another child. _What happened to Harry??_ He scoured the house again.... another troubling feature of this house was that, if Harry _was_ here, he was not taken along when the family left the house.... a troubling state of affairs to leave a toddler alone in an otherwise empty house. The other boy was taken, but Harry most definitely was _not_. Well, Dumbledore had said that he had left Harry in Petunia's care, and that bony, nosy little hag peering through the window was as close to the Petunia Evans he knew as a woman could possibly be.

Snape stood for a very long time standing in the middle of the living room, just trying to figure out where a toddler could have vanished off to in a Muggle's house.... he would have said at least four minutes.

Then a sound—if he hadn't paid attention, he would have absolutely missed it, even in the otherwise silent house. It was just a scratch, coming from the direction of the.... the kitchen, and the stairs combined. He whirled around, for the first time his invisibility cloak genuinely shifting around him to reveal only the bottoms of his boots.

Then the sound changed to something unmistakeable. Crying—and not just any crying; a very poignant crying from an unhappy child. But where?

Snape rounded on the cupboard beneath the stairs.

_Barbaric, worthless, mud-blooded..._ He threw caution to the wind and pulled the invisibility cloak off as he ran to the cupboard, and threw the door open.

_Bastards._

Harry was there, left in the cupboard. The child was crying, his face red and clearly disapproving of being left behind. Or potentially because of soiled nappies, Severus thought to himself as he wrinkled his nose.

Severus looked at Harry, and Harry looked up at him, for a moment his tears ceased... then promptly resumed. Dumbledore was right; Harry did have his mother's eyes.

Snape looked back around—there was no telling how much longer the Dursleys would be away for, and he couldn't simply let the son of Lily and James Potter wallow in filth. It simply wouldn't do. Regardless of how much he didn't want to do it, how much he would have sworn not a day ago not to get involved.... It just didn't seem right.

Severus scooped up the little one from the crib wedged into the cupboard, and took him upstairs to where he had seen a convenient place and supplies as well.

....

For all of his knowledge about Potions, Charms, Spells, and even Healing.... Severus Snape would have most certainly achieved a T in anything regarding parental matters. Not a D, but a T, most certainly, for 'Troll'.

By the time he had set Harry back down in the crib to rest again, his headache that had existed even before he had come was absolutely unbearable. On the more positive side, it seemed that Harry at least had taken a liking to him, even though Severus had to place him back in the cupboard, as he had found the child. It would be better if no one knew.

As Severus replaced the invisibility cloak over his head, a deep-seated rage was beginning to simmer inside of him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the son of Lily and James Potter, was kept in a crib, penned in a cupboard. It was disgraceful to all wizard kind, and most chiefly disgraceful to Dumbledore, who had thought for even a moment that the likes of _Petunia Evans_ and an unseen Vernon Dursley would ever sufficiently care for the boy that represented everything remaining of a shattered world... A dead era.

He went back to the cupboard to check on Harry every few minutes (every minute, the clock on the wall told him) and every time he did, Harry just looked up at him and cooed.

When Petunia and Dudley finally returned to the house, Snape was huddled in the corner of the living room, content now to sit instead of stand between his checks on Harry's wellbeing... Petunia went upstairs with Dudley, and didn't come down for another... almost forty minutes.... which was altogether too long to leave a baby out of sight and unattended, when you are in the house.

When she did come down, she turned on the Telly and began to make dinner. Harry seemed to be all but forgotten.

When Vernon Dursley returned from his workplace, Snape almost instantly decided that he liked Vernon even less than he did Petunia, and that was saying something, given that he had known Petunia all his life.

The rest of the night was passed in general peace. Harry was taken out of the cupboard for the meal, and to change another soiled nappy, but other than that it was if the Boy Who Lived didn't even exist to them.

The Dursleys retired Dudley at about seven-thirty in the evening, and went to bed themselves at about nine thirty. Harry, meanwhile, was still in the cupboard.

Severus waited until snoring indicated that they were asleep (he assumed about eleven, but it was hard to tell since he could no longer see the clock), and snuck out of the house. A high-pitched, screeching wail sounded from the upstairs as he closed the door.... he could only assume that was Dudley, throwing a fit.

He took a long walk down Privet Drive and down the road itself to have some time to think about what he had seen, then disapparated back to his cottage, where he found Jacques waiting for him with a letter from Dumbledore.

_Thank you for at least considering the matter, Severus. It means a great deal to me, and I am certain that it would mean a great deal to Lily and James. All is forgiven from last night, I assure you... Though, I would beg that you refrain from any over-indulgent usage of your Wake potion, as you call it, for its effects on you are **most** unseemly._

_Albus_

The slightest suggestion of a smile passed over Snape's face before he remembered that he was extremely upset with Dumbledore, as well as with the Dursleys, and he decided to write another message to Dumbledore right then and there. Even Jacques seemed to know that something was definitely up, and instead of going for hunting, as he usually did, he watched as his owner took up paper and quill and wrote.

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_I have made my decision, and I would like to care for the young Harry Potter, until such time arrives for him to leave my care as he comes of age, or until he no longer sees my provisions for him as sufficient and ceases to call my home, his home._

_Severus Snape_  
_Future Potions Master, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry; _

_Caretaker of the Boy Who Lived_

His hand protested every word he wrote, but his mind drove him forward. The moment he finished writing the last word of his letter, the dark ink flashed a luminous gold for a split-second before becoming dark again.

He tied the note to Jacques' leg as he whistled a note of medium tone and duration.... then paused, and before sending his owl off again, pulled out another, much smaller slip of paper and wrote another letter. He quickly trilled the notes in succession as he tapped the talon with the note to Dumbledore— two short high notes, and two short low notes, and then one long and medium. The talon that carried the other letter was tapped as Snape whistled a short low note, a short high note, then another short low note. The owl seemed to nod again, then set off in the direction of Hogwarts

What was in that letter?

Well, no one was precisely certain, but for many years after that, a tiny slip of paper was displayed proudly behind glass in Professor McGonagall's office, and even followed her when she eventually became Headmistress. The paper was not addressed, nor did it have any names on it at all, and the three words that were on it were in a nearly-illegible and thoroughly _angry_ scrawl. Still, Professor McGonagall refused to take it down from her constant sight.

_Damn your intuition._


	4. Dying Days

_ “You worthless, idiotic boy! Get back here! You are not going to that... that freak show, and that is final!” _

_ “No! I’m going, I don’t care! I don’t care! I want to be a wizard, and I’ll be a better man than you ever were!” _

_ Ripping pages. A brand-new wand that a small boy had bought with his own money, snapped clean in two.  _

_ “You’re not going to go off chasing pixies like your mother!” _

_ “Stop, stop!” _

_ “You damned, motherless brat; let me tell you what I  _ ** _really_ ** _ think about you!” _

_ Heavy blows. _

_ ... _

_ “Hey, are you alright, Lily?” _

_ “I don't want to talk to you right now.” _

_ “Wha-Why not? What's the matter?” _

_ “Tuney hates me.... Oh Severus, you shouldn't have looked at that letter from Dumbledore!” _

_ “...” _

_ “She's my sister, Sev, and I know you don't like your own family much, but I care about her a lot!” _

_ “...Come on, cheer up, Lily; she'll get over it eventually, and besides, we're finally going! We're going to Hogwarts!” _

_ The little red-haired girl smiled at the mention of school, and made room for him on the seat. _

_ “I wonder if we'll be in Slytherin. Mum says that they're the best House to be in.” _

_ A messy-haired boy with glasses sitting opposite them gave a guffaw of laughter. “Who wants to be a slimy  _ Slytherin _ ? God, I think I'd  _ leave _ .” He nudged the boy lounging next to him. “Wouldn't you, Sirius?” _

_ “I dunno, James. My whole family was in Slytherin.” _

_ “Blimey, mate. And here I thought you were all-right,” the boy James said as he playfully slapped his friend on the shoulder. _

_ “Well, I dunno. Maybe I won't be a Slytherin,” Sirius mused. “What about you?”  _

_ “Gryffindor's the  _ only _ place for me, just like my dad. It's where the brave-in-heart go.” _

_ Severus gave an indignant snort and James rounded on him. _

_ “You got a problem with that,  _ Sev _ ?”  _

_ “Of course not,” the younger boy sneered. “It's none of  _ my _ concern if you'd rather be brawny than brainy—” _

_ “Hey, Snivellus, where do you think you're going to get sorted, seeing as how you're  _ neither _ of those!” _

_ James roared with laughter, but Severus' cheeks flushed a bright pink. _

_ Lily glared at both James and Sirius as she stood. “Come on, Severus. Let's find another compartment.” _

_ ... _

_ He was overly bookish, studious, and astoundingly clever, and, as he later discovered, he would have been a fantastic Ravenclaw. _

_ He would have been a brilliant Ravenclaw. _

_ The Sorting Hat, in retrospect, was a vile little creature who decided to put him into Slytherin, on the grounds that he was ambitious enough to want to outdo his father in life, and therefore deserved a chance to have that happen. Stupid hat. _

_ So perhaps he belonged in Slytherin... But he didn’t  _ belong _ there. Not insofar as his blood was impure. Lucius Malfoy, one of the eldest Slytherins when Severus came to Hogwarts, made  _ that _ quite clear to him... Mind you, Lucius was pleasant enough—it was a strange of passive-aggressiveness that tipped Severus off that the only way for him to atone for his crime of being born to a witch and a Muggle was to fall in with the crowd... The so-called Young Death Eaters, in Slytherin.  _

_ He didn’t agree with them... He never  _ agreed _ with them, but it was nice to belong to a group of people who were just as influential as James Potter, but were on Severus’s side.... All the same, he hated thinking of any people as inferior; his father did that all the time, and Severus’s greatest wish was to be a better man than his father was... It was acceptance, and a defence against Potter and the Marauders was a thing that Severus was always keen on. _

_ Still, he was bookish, and ugly, and he could never say what he wanted to the way that he wanted to.... Which left him with Lily, who seemed to appreciate him for his mind and heart. He loved her, for her mind, her heart, her eyes, and smile... And so very much more. He would have wanted her to see that... But he didn’t know how. All he knew for certain was that he wanted to see Lily smile. He wanted to see her smile, at him and with him... He wanted her to be happy. There wasn’t anything in the world he wanted more. _

_ She found what made her happy elsewhere. _

_ That, of course, crushed him. _

_ ... _

_ “Madam Pomfrey! Come immediately, please!” _

_ “Is he dead, Dumbledore? He can’t be dead, he just can’t; it’d be my fault!” _

_ “Shh, shh, Lily, don’t worry, Madam Pomfrey is the best healer we have.” _

_ “What’s the ruckus—oh my goodness... Careful now, lay him here, Dumbledore... What happened to this boy?” _

_ “Lily?” _

_ “I... I found him. I found him by the lake. He was singing... At least it sounded like he was singing... Then he flicked his wand... He said a spell... Oh, Madam Pomfrey, there was so much blood!” _

_ “And that’s what did it to him?” _

_ “I think... I think...” _

_ “Calm down, dear. Calm down... Dumbledore, if you could hold this compress—careful, there is a lot of blood.... Dear, we can’t help him unless we know what happened. Now... You said that he spoke a spell—do you know what it was?” _

_ “No, it wasn’t familiar to me... And I daren’t speak it aloud—just look at him!” _

_ “You can speak it; it will be safe as long as you aren’t pointing your wand at someone.” _

_ “He said... He said...  _ Sectumsempra _ . Is that a normal spell? I’ve never even heard it before.” _

_ “Dumbledore—stop—you’ve  _ got _ to hold the compress more firmly than  _ that  _ if it’s going to work.” _

_ “Indeed, Madam Pomfrey.... Lily, perhaps I should speak with you in private. Madame Pomfrey, can you address this without further assistance?” _

_ “Well, he is in bad shape.... But I think I have an idea how to deal with this. I don’t think I’ll need your help anymore, and besides that it would be better if there was peace in the infirmary anyways.” _

_ “Come Lily... We have a lot to talk about...” _

_ ... _

_ “Severus Snape. Come in. Thank you for coming here on such short notice. I assure you, I have sent word to Professor McGonagall. She has agreed to null your detention, for this little chat of ours.” _

_ “Er... Thank you? If I may ask, sir, what is this all about?” _

_ “Sit down, Severus.” _

_ “Oh... Yes, sir.” _

_ “... Madam Pomfrey tells me that you’re in her care quite often these days.” _

_ “... Yes, sir. I... I keep having... accidents... Studying various practical applications of Magical Theory..” _

_ “Accidents. Yes, of course..... Tell me, Severus, how familiar are you with Augustus Rathworth’s _ Treatise on Magical Theory _ ? He was one of the earliest authorities on Magical Theory and its relationship to Muggles and Wizards, before he was admitted for instability after his application of that facet of Magic Theory on Dark Magic.” _

_ “I... I have read it, sir.” _

_ “Then I am certain that you are aware— _ Treatise on Magical Theory _ is in the ‘Restricted’ section of the library?” _

_ “Yes, sir.... I... I convinced Professor Slughorn to allow me to check out the book three years ago. I said I needed it for Defence Against the Dark Arts.” _

_ “Mmn... Yes. Horace was always generous with knowledge to his select few... Not that generosity of information is a bad thing, you see... But how that knowledge is used is an important matter.... An important matter indeed... Severus. If you have read the book, and I am quite certain you understand it... Do you know  _ why _ it is in the Restricted section?” _

_ “It details how spells are written.” _

_ “...” _

_ “Er... Um... How spells are....  _ discovered _ , I suppose.” _

_ “That’s the Severus I know... Continue. What do you know about the discovery of spells, from the  _ Treatise _ ?” _

_ “That... That all spells that  _ can _ exist already  _ do _ exist, but that the problem is writing the proper invocation in order to tap into the effect, and connecting the words with the action. Usually they’re in Latin. And it’s the same with potions—the objects tap into a base of magic, and in proper quantities and preparation, they can be used to manipulate the base into effecting desired actions.” _

_ “His conclusion?” _

_ “That it explains why you can’t simply write spells whenever you want to, and why potions have to be prepared perfectly or they won’t work; he proposed that magic is closer to a kind of energy—just a kind that Muggles haven’t found a way to harness yet. He says that they will, eventually, but until then, it’s exclusive to wizards and witches.” _

_ “Do you hold to this explanation of Magic Theory, Severus?” _

_ “...Er... Well... With all due respect, a lot of his conclusions about Muggles seemed like rubbish, sir.” _

_ “But the remainder of the  _ Treatise _ ?” _

_ “The remainder of it made sense, even for something written so early. Magic always has seemed like a specialized science, I suppose. Potions and Transfiguration, especially, but even Charms. The way he explained blood purity made sense. But the spells... I’d never thought of it that way.” _

_ “Severus... Do you think that you would like to write a spell or create a potion at all?” _

_ “Er... Um.... Yes, sir. I would. I do believe the forefront of discovery would suit me well.” _

_ “And if you created a spell, what would it be a spell to do?” _

_ “...” _

_ “Severus. I’m sure you know by now that I know why you’ve been visiting Madame Pomfrey almost every weekend.  _ Grievous _ injuries, she tells me.” _

_ “...” _

_ “She doesn’t know how you get them—she would have thought you had been fighting with Fluffy. ‘Practical Applications of Magical Theory’  _ indeed _ ... Tell me, have you developed an effective countercurse in the summer holiday since then?” _

_ “...” _

_ “Severus. I know about  _ Sectumsempra _ . In fact, I know about the whole lot of it. Corpus leviosa, Muffliato—I am certain all students wish they would have had that sooner. I assure you, you are not in trouble for your innovations. I only want to know if you have a countercurse for the dangerous one, or not.” _

_ “I think I’ve made a countercurse, sir... I keep trying, but it only works most of the time.” _

_ “Is that the truth?” _

_ “....No, sir..... I developed  _ Vulnera Sanentur  _ first. It works on almost all wounds, if done properly...” _

_ “Severus, Madam Pomfrey believes the absolute worst of your state right now. She told me yesterday after you departed the infirmary that she is but one incident away from having you forcefully admitted to St. Mungo’s on the grounds that you are too unstable to be allowed to roam free—that you are a danger to yourself and this school in your experiments with Dark Magic. Quite frankly, I understand precisely why she is considering it. So tell me, if you developed the countercurse first, why do you not use it?” _

_ “Sometimes I use it... Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I’m too distracted, and I don’t do it properly. So I go to Madam Pomfrey’s... I only go to her if I think that I’m in actual danger. If I can’t stop the bleeding quickly enough...” _

_ “Severus, you cannot  _ do _ things like that. Regardless of the fact that you are engaging in destructive behaviour in your use of Dark Magic—an entirely  _ dangerous _ practice and one that I would  _ beseech _ you to refrain from, with the  _ utmost _ urgency—you are worrying Madam Pomfrey, as well as the rest of us, terribly. Even Professor McGonagall excused you from detention to have this issue resolved.” _

_ “...Sometimes my arms hurt less than the rest of me,” the boy mumbled. “Headmaster.... Am I to be expelled and admitted to St. Mungo’s for this?” _

_ “.... Severus, I am not going to expel you, or punish you in any way, because I see no value in it, and no need for it... From what Madam Pomfrey has told me about the, to say the least,  _ extensive _ scarring, you have done a superb job of punishing yourself. One does not administer lashes and beatings to a sick man, simply for the reason that he has become ill...” _

_ “But then... You  _ do _ think that I’m  _ ill _ , don’t you? Ill enough to send me off to St. Mungo’s, right?” _

_ “No, Dear boy, no.... Severus, the only circumstances by which I would forcibly admit you to St. Mungo’s is if I thought that you truly had no control over your own behaviour, or you posed a threat to your own life or the safety of other students here. If you  _ desire _ to go to St. Mungo’s for help, then I would be willing to help you be admitted... But if you do not wish for that, I will not force you to leave Hogwarts... I can tell that you would prefer for this to be resolved here, rather than at an institution.... For now, all I would like to have from you is an explanation of  _ why _ you’re doing this.” _

_ “... It’s personal, sir.” _

_ “It is also important, Severus.” _

_ “I... It’s not something I really want to talk about... At least not right now.” _

_ “I can understand a desire for privacy, however, this is  _ quite _ getting out of hand, you understand.” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

_ “Are you certain that there is  _ nothing _ you have to say? Even in the highest standards of my confidence?” _

_ “I.... Er... No, sir.” _

_ “... Very well. If you cannot control the urges you have... At least speak to Madame Pomfrey. Simply by virtue of the situation at hand I would guess that we will be having more of these talks... though I sincerely hope not.” _

_ “Yes, sir. Thank you, Headmaster. Am I... Am I dismissed?” _

_ “Yes, Severus. You may go.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I wrote that. Yes, this is canon divergent. No, I don't really apologize.


	5. Proofing

A prisoner’s preparation for Wizengamot was likely the most inhumane practice of all practices known to witches and wizards. Even the Muggles’ burning of witches was easily negated; Muggles couldn’t, prevailingly, seriously harm wizards... at least, not trained wizards.... But, and it was for this reason that Dumbledore and the entire Weasley family worked against Mudblood Laws, wizards could harm Muggles. And wizards could harm wizards. And if the wizards are in a position of power—even worse, a position of _justice_, the Ministry of Magic, for example.... Well then. In Severus Snape’s mind, you had better strap in and brace yourself, because you're going for a _ride_.

He was called to Wizengamot along with all of the other alleged Death Eaters. Most of them had been ones that Snape had given up to the Order, and then the Order promptly informed the Ministry... But of course, _alleged_ was one of those little nuances of words that the Ministry of Magic didn’t trust. Not when it came to Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. The Ministry of Magic seemed to regard the Order of the Phoenix as only a little better than Voldemort himself. Of course, Snape knew that the Order was better—and that was coming from the other angle of things. At least Order members weren’t branded.

At any rate: Wizengamot.

Snape’s own cross-examination lasted a long and arduous month. One long month of being chained to the floor, stripped of his wand, most of his clothing, and (because he was like Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lord Voldemort, capable of performing _many_ wandless spells other than _accio_) blindfolded as well. He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life, of course... In all honesty it was about as powerless as you could make a wizard to be, without causing irreparable damage to them or their souls. Luckily, it was Arthur Weasley who did most of the interrogations. He asked questions, but he wasn’t terribly prying about things that weren’t really related to Snape’s involvement with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He also sat in a chair in front of the chained man—he refrained from circling around him like a shark. Snape, in turn, agreed that, for a technical blood-traitor, Arthur Weasley was an alright bloke.

The Ministry of Magic might, however, have been playing good auror-bad auror with him. Toying with him. Because the second Arthur Weasley left the room, the dementors came back in.

Quite frankly, Severus Snape, with all the usual issues, had enough of a store of horrible memories from his childhood and time with the Death Eaters that it often seemed like he had a personal dementor following him around, regardless of who (or... Or _what_) happened to be in the room with him... The only bright star that was with him always was Lily, and she’d broken his heart, ran off with another man, and then died at the wandpoint of Voldemort. So naturally, the Dementors let him have that one. Damned dementors.

Of course, in retrospect, the dementors probably thought similarly of him. He wasn’t an awfully _plentiful_ food source for them. Likely due to this (that their assignment to him was practically starvation for them as it was), they tried to administer the Dementor’s Kiss at least thrice during that month. The first two attempts were thwarted by Arthur Weasley, and the last was put to a stop by a put-off Dumbledore. (Quite frankly, Snape _never_ wanted to be on the _receiving_ end of that reaction from Hogwarts’ Headmaster, _ever_.)

Severus would always say that it was somewhere around this time that his patronus changed to a doe. Thoughts of Lily maintained his resolve and kept his mind from being a Dementor’s playground... He was still utterly miserable, but at least he was _sane_.

Thankfully, after Arthur Weasley’s cross examination and several _compelling_ testimonies on Severus’s behalf by Dumbledore and others, the former Death Eater was declared a free wizard. His wand and robes were returned to him, and he was instructed to not be seen on the business end of the Wizengamot again, for his own good. He had no argument with that idea.

After that ordeal (and he did consider it to be an ordeal) there was still the matter of fetching Harry. The Ministry of Magic didn’t seem to very much care about Harry’s future, and Arthur Weasley, thankfully, did not ask.

...

It was two painful days after Snape had finalized relations with the Wizengamot that Dumbledore allowed him to gather Harry.

Severus had been given two _more_ days to have horrible regrets and to wallow in sheer reluctance... What on earth had struck him to agree to this? But then he thought of any baby held in a cupboard like some sort of hexed _gerbil_ that one hid because they couldn’t get rid of it, and rage boiled in the depths of his soul before his emotions tried to beat it back down with the proverbial stick.

_I have to._

_I don’t want to. _

_I _care_ about what happens to the son of Lily Evans. He deserves to know what kind of brilliant and amazing people his parents were._

_Why am I kidding myself? James Potter was a selfish, irresponsible _bastard_._

_But James died protecting Lily and Harry... That has to account for something._

Selfish bastard_—did I somehow _not_ just say that? Do you listen to me anymore?_

_Harry at least deserves to know about his mother. I know Petunia won’t respect her memory at all._

_Not my problem._

_But the conditions he would live in!_

_Again, it’s not my problem._

_It was _Lily’s_ problem. She would want me to help._

_She respects what happened between us after I called her a Mudblood. She wouldn't bother._

_It’s what a good man would do._

_Since when was I ever a good man? How could I face those brilliant green eyes again? How could I live civilly with the spitting image of my own worst childhood enemy..._

_Well, I _am_ contractually bound, still, the second I signed that letter. I’m still the Caretaker of the Boy Who Lived..._

_Damn you._

So that’s how Severus found himself on Arthur Weasley’s doorstep at three in the afternoon, exactly, the day before he was supposed to get Harry. It was a Saturday, coincidentally, so he knew Arthur would more than likely have the day off.

He was there with reluctance equal to that with which he signed the letter off to Dumbledore. Firstly, he was an awfully proud man, in his own admission. He disliked asking for help, if he could stand it. That, and knew he was commonly disliked among...Well... Basically everyone. Everyone, especially from the Order of the Phoenix, had a tendency to glance at his left forearm, either out of concern, or a morbid curiosity. It _was_ more like a cattle brand than a tattoo, thank you very much.

For anyone else except Dumbledore, whom he allowed to inspect the Mark regularly, instead of pulling up his left sleeve, he had a tendency to roll up his right sleeve more often, because he’d almost never put dittany on his right arm. That quickly stopped them from asking any questions at all.

Arthur Weasley had been the only one of the Order of the Phoenix besides Dumbledore who really understood that the Mark was not to be talked about, and thereby earned himself a place on Severus’ good side. Although Snape certainly couldn’t say the inverse... But then, everyone seemed to dislike Severus Snape. Severus Snape, with all the _usual_ issues.

Another thing that had gained Arthur Weasley a little gold star in Severus’s mind was that he had been the only individual in the entire Ministry of Magic who didn’t seem to want to _crucio_ him. Not _crucio_ing was a very big plus, in Severus’ opinion.

So Severus Snape knocked reluctantly on the door to the Weasleys’ house.

It was Arthur who opened the door.

“Ah. Severus. How can I help you today? Not in more trouble, I hope?”

Snape gave a gentler glower than he usually gave to people... More of an ‘I’ve only heard that comment hundred times this week. Please. Continue.’ glower than his typical ‘I hate everything that lives and breathes’ expression.

“No, Arthur... I was hoping that I could get your assistance. I am entertaining... A very young guest... For a prolonged period of time. I need to make certain that the infant will not manage to accidentally harm himself with anything in the cottage. I admit I know very little about ensuring the safety of infants in a house, but I have an idea... Potions are already locked away; I’m quite certain I’ve missed things... I need to buy proper supplies as well to prepare for the child... But I have no... I would think that you would know the procedure for... Well... Children.”

“So.... You want me to help you with babyproofing your house... And prepping for raising a kid. Huh. That’s something I never saw happening... Well, anyways, I’ll certainly help you. And you were good to come to me... Can I ask... Er... Can I ask who the lucky little lady was?”

“...”

“You know what? I’ll take that as _no_. But we should get going.”

...

Babyproofing a wizard’s house is quite different from babyproofing a muggle’s house. In Muggle houses, you have to be worried about things like electrical sockets and kitchens, pools, cleaning supplies and stairs. In Wizarding houses, you have to worry about stray wands, broomsticks, spellbooks, potions, knives, swords, some incendiary devices (on occasion)... And somehow stairs still makes it to the list in the houses of both Muggles _and_ Wizards...

Severus Snape owned two wands (one of which was always under lock and key), kept his potions and any books about Dark Magic in a locked cupboard, owned no knives or swords or goblin-axes... And he only had one set of stairs—a set of circular stone steps that led down to the... Well. He would call it an office, combined with a potions lab. Most other people would have called it a dungeon because it too was carved into the rock and tapped into the artesian well of the kitchen, but, as he told Arthur: Hogwarts Potions Master Severus Snape did not have a _dungeon_ beneath his quaint little vine-covered cottage in the English countryside. He had an _office_, which doubled as a potions lab. After weathering a round of uncontrollable chuckling (at Severus’ expense), Arthur Weasley informed him that stairs were easily enough guarded against with a few simple repelling wards that would keep young wizards out until they reached a certain age.

Snape’s lone broomstick (a rather sorry-looking old thing whose bristles were falling out, and that was more than likely just a regular old Muggle broomstick with minor enchantments) was locked up in the shed outside. That was probably for the best anyways... Although if Severus had found it first, rather than Arthur Weasley, Severus would likely have simply snapped the handle. Better there be no broomstick in the house at all, rather than weathering the sheer embarrassment that came with having to show Arthur that his broomstick, _if_ it even was a legitimately magical broomstick, was a crotchety old thing that didn’t even lift to anyone’s hand without a frustrated _accio! _and barely flew at all.

At any rate, Severus Snape’s little cottage in the English countryside was subjected to a definitive babyproofing.

After that, Arthur took Severus on a trip into the world of Muggles to procure supplies for raising a child.... It was well past ten when they arrived back and set everything up in the guest room... This, Snape supposed, meant that he really didn’t have a guest room anymore.

The only matter of concern that Severus noted as Arthur left, was a grin that the man cracked at him. “Take a look around your cottage, Severus,” the man had said. “Take a good, long look.”

Severus had obliged him.

“By this time tomorrow, you shall have a child in the house. This is the cleanest, most pristine your cottage will be for a very long time.”

Severus eyed him as he walked out the door and promptly disapparated off of the front step.


	6. Debt

If he _never_ saw Privet Drive again, it would be too soon. Much too soon.

Severus had apparated on the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive at eight in the PM, looking a great deal more like great big bat on the stair instead of a man.

Dumbledore was already there, as well as McGonagall. He was obviously ready to remove the blood wards—Severus had already set the grounds of that by writing the letter. By this time, all they had to do was transfer the actual child from house to cottage.

“Evening, Severus.”

“Mmn.”

McGonagall spoke up. “We will be waiting for you, in the street,” she said, holding up the deluminator.

Dumbledore and McGonagall both walked out to the middle of the sidewalk... They seemed to be in some sort of deep conversation... He puzzled over what it might have been, whether it was Minerva, thinking about how strange it seemed for the wayward child that she knew oh-so-long-ago to be voluntarily choosing to care for a child. And the child of his arch-nemesis, James Potter, no less

Severus lifted his hand to the doorbell... And then paused. _I don’t.... I don’t know how to do this. I’m not a good enough man for this. I never was. I’m a coward; it’s in my nature... _

_It’s my fault._

...

_A young, dark haired man opened a pale door to find his mother sitting on her bed. Her head was down, her hair let down to conceal her face from view. He ran to her side, knelt in front of her, tears forming in his eyes as he heard the sound of breaking of glass and a string of profanities coming from the living room._

_“Mum...Mum..... I can’t _do_ this anymore.” He looked down, and then looked back up at her. “I can’t... Look at what he’s done. What I allowed him to do...” He tipped her head up, so that he could see the cuts and bruises on her face. “Look at what he’s done to you...” He pulled out his wand, and began to murmur an incantation that sounded like a song. Her hand grasped his, and he stopped chanting the spell._

_“Dear boy... It doesn’t hurt.” She held his chin with a gentle finger as he tried to look away. “Look at me, Severus. You’re seventeen now, almost eighteen; you’re of age under wizarding law. Go. Find a place for yourself. A nice place, where you’ll be safe.”_

_“He would never approve... Mum, I can’t leave you here; I can’t leave you here with _him_.” He rolled up his left sleeve. “Look,” he said simply._

_She gasped, her hand over her mouth. The magical brand was still fresh._

_“Mum, I did it for you,” the youth said, his eyes sparkling. “I did it for you. For... For us. It’s just going to be a little bit longer before we can go. We can leave, far away from here, where _he_ can’t follow us. We’ll be safe under Lord Voldemort; we wouldn’t have to fear... _him_. He wouldn’t be able to hurt you anymore, even after I leave home.”_

_The woman sighed. “My dear boy, no one is safe under Lord Voldemort; you have to know that. Not me, not you... No one is safe under Lord Voldemort. Not purebloods, not half-bloods, not Muggle-borns like your friend Lily Evans. Least of all, the Muggles themselves. Voldemort's kind will kill Muggles for entertainment. Surely you know that.”_

_“Who cares about Muggles?! They’re cruel, and destructive!” As if to punctuate the boy’s statement, another sound of glass breaking, punctuated with more curses of a _distinctly_ non-magical variety. “Mum, I’m not doing this for me! Everything I’m doing, all of it—it’s for us... For everyone I care about! They’ll leave Lily alone—Lord Voldemort likes me, I know he does. Even more than he likes Lucius Malfoy. He’d listen to me, and keep them in check! And I don’t care for Muggles. Especially not the one in _this_ house.”_

_“It’s Tobias’s home as well, Severus,” she said weakly, though she seemed to concede his point. “Just promise me... You won’t do anything foolish.”_

_“Mum, the world is changing. We’re... We’re going to win. I just know it. And then I’ll be able to take you away from here, far away, and you’ll be safe.”_

_She looked up at him sadly, and he gently stroked her face, careful to not graze any of the cuts. “Severus....” She lay on the bed sideways to still look at him. He moved to stay in her field of vision. “Severus... Even when you’re not sure where to go... You’ve got to _accept_ the past... Look at the present.” She sighed. “Make your decision, and live for the future.”_

_“Mum? ... Mum!”_

...

Severus took a deep breath. _Make your decision. Live for the future_.

He rang the doorbell.

The rather portly Vernon Dursley opened the door.... Severus would have said a little too quickly. There was an expression on his face; Severus couldn’t quite tell what it was. It seemed to be a mix of enthusiasm for being able to ditch Harry, prejudice against Snape’s appearance, and something else that just made Severus _angry_ and he couldn’t understand what it was. A cheeky, arrogant look, perhaps? Something reminiscent, perhaps, of a Malfoy? He wasn’t certain.

“Good evening,” Severus said, his voice as even and quiet as ever. “I understand that you have in your care one Harry Potter. I am here to retrieve him.”

“Ah, yes, sir. Thank you... Won’t you come in?... Your name is—”

“_Severus Snape_,” a familiar voice finished.

Said wizard turned to the blonde woman, who had taken to looking even more like a hag than usual. “Petunia,” he said with a curt nod.

“You _know_ this man,” Vernon asked, looking quite as if he had suddenly felt the effects of a latent confunding spell.

“Yes,” Petunia sniffed and didn’t even look at the wizard in the room. Snape had hated that about Petunia Evans when she had done that same exact nose-in-the-air sniff when they were all children... He still did, he supposed. His expression began to level out from ‘cordial’ into ‘mildly annoyed’ as she continued—still barely acknowledging his presence in the house. “We knew each other as children. He took a fancy to Lily.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed into chips of obsidian, and his expression struggled to remain at ‘mildly annoyed’. _I’m still here, and I am not a housepet, thank you very much!_

Vernon paused. “Mmn. More of _her_ kind. That cannot be a good influence... But I’m a reasonable man. You may take him.”

Severus refrained from saying something inappropriate and offensive as to their flippant remarks about Lily Potter.... but the temptation was becoming quite fierce by this time. He settled on a full-blown glare and an “Mmn.”, with undertones of _if you didn’t give me your permission to take him, Vernon Dursley, I likely still would have anyways, because I loved Lily, James grew up (mostly), and because I hate your guts. No hard feelings, you understand..._

Petunia retrieved Harry from the cupboard—god, that just sounded so unbelievably _wrong_ to him—and Harry promptly began to wail.

Vernon winced as Harry screeched. “He’s been doing that quite a bit.”

Severus unclasped his hands, and gave a pointed look at the man. _That sort of thing _happens _when you _neglect_ a child_.

Petunia quickly delivered the crying child into Severus’s arms. Harry didn’t look all that much different from when Severus saw him last.... Perhaps a bit thinner, but still alright. At least they remembered to feed him... Then he realized that Harry had ceased bawling and was grabbing at dangling locks of dark hair with chubby fingers. Charming.

Snape gave a curt nod at the Dursleys, tipping his head back to sweep his hair well out of Harry's reach. “Thank you. It will be good to have young Mr. Potter back in the wizarding world.” He said nothing more but was gone with a flick of his cloak (which, unbeknownst to the Dursleys, had been used to wrap Harry up to defend from the nip in the air).

He returned back to the sidewalk, where Dumbledore and McGonagall still stood.

“You have him,” McGonagall observed happily. “For a moment, I thought we might have to hex them.”

Snape shook his head. “No, Minerva. They were... Troublingly willing to turn his care over to me.... Dumbledore, are you finished with the wards?”

The elder wizard finished flailing his wand, and nodded. “Yes. The blood wards are revoked. They still exist, however they are considerably weaker now. Their strength has been given to the wards around your cottage. They are weaker than I would like, but I think that could change. It all depends. Minerva?”

Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand. “Ah, yes. Will future Potions Master Snape need assistance getting back to his house? A disapparition of three wizards is safer than with one.”

Snape balked. “As if I would risk splinching him at all,” he snorted. “Arthur Weasley has agreed to give me a ride in his car.”

Dumbledore gave a slight nod. “Then we ought to wait for him.... My, my. It does look like it may snow.”

It only took about ten minutes of waiting for Arthur Weasley to arrive even less than fashionably late. It was just downright late. Somehow, even within that short time frame, Professor McGonagall found it to be a new favourite pastime to look at Snape—something that the latter found quite off-putting.

Severus had just been standing there, slowly pivoting on his foot back and forth, and Harry seemed to be falling asleep—a startling development since the yelling they had heard come from the house. And then he found McGonagall staring at him—not just looking, _staring_, as if he were back in Transfigurations and she was assessing his work. The third time he looked up from Harry to find her looking at him with a contented smile on her face, he was a bit more than put off. “_What?_ What on earth could you find so amusing?” He drew up more of his cloak to wrap Harry in.

“Oh,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Minerva simply never thought she would see you holding a baby. I do believe it makes her feel rather proud. And rather old, I should think." He grinned and moved his shoulder to dodge a hat swinging in his direction. "I admit that _I_ feel rather old, suddenly, seeing you holding a child.”

Minerva simply gave a smile and returned her hat to her head, clearly pleased to now have a proxy grandson, and turned to look back at the road. Meanwhile Severus just stood there and tried (failingly) to look small.

Severus still held Harry during the ride back to his home, but less than an hour later Harry was dressed in a little pyjama onesie and was sleeping soundly in a low-bar crib.

For about half an hour after tiny, soft baby snores had begun to sound in the otherwise quiet house, Severus watched over little Harry from a wooden rocking chair next to the crib. If Harry chose to wake, he wanted to be right nearby, because, as Severus himself knew, transition times are difficult, and it’s unbelievably rare for a small child to wake up in unfamiliar surroundings and not be alarmed. He knew that much from experience. _Well_, he reasoned to himself. _At least it’s not a cupboard._

A thought crossed his mind as he sat there, motionless and looking at Harry in the soft light of the winter moon as snow began to fall outside the window... _You could have been mine, little one.... You could have been my own son, not just my charge, but my very own son._ He sighed lightly. _It was not to be. Perhaps for the best. I suppose things could have turned out quite differently..._

He leaned over to set his right elbow on the armrest. _I did love your mother... Very, very much... She watched over me when I was young and without hope... Kept me from doing things I would regret... Kept me alive, once or twice, not out of guilt or pity, but because that was the person who she was... And then my _careless_ words..._ His eyes closed.

“_My greatest hope is that I might repay my debt to her, little one._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I had intended to post the chapter yesterday, but school happened and I didn't get home until much later than I anticipated.


	7. Wands and Little Favours

_ “Yes? Ah yes.” The wandmaker walked down from the ladder and came to the counter. “A young wizard, seeking to buy his very first wand, eh?” _

_ Severus grinned “Yessir. I’d very much like to walk home with a wand today.” _

_ Ollivander gave a noble nod. “Well, then, I shall see what we have.” With that, he turned and went for a boxed wand. _

_ The wand maker returned with a smallish one—he said that it was wood from an apple tree, with a Unicorn Tail Hair core. Severus took the wand, but the moment he did, the wand gave a great shudder. Severus’s eyes were wide as the wand seemed to twitch in his hand _

_ “Er...” _

_ “Give it a flick, test it out.” _

_ Severus did as he was asked, although he purposefully pointed it at the floor, because, as he suspected there might be, there was a great popping sound, and the smell of burnt flooring rose up to him and the shop owner. _

_ “All due respect, sir, I think that this wand might be allergic to me,” Severus said, only half-joking. _

_ Ollivander’s brow furrowed. “Quite,” he said as he took the wand back. _

_ He continued searching through the stacks. “Not a Holly-Phoenix feather... eleven inches? No, no, that doesn’t seem to fit  _ you _ for  _ you _ , does it?” _

_ Ollivander produced another wand from the stacks. “Willow. Ten inches, Dragon Heartstring. Pleasantly supple... It seems to fit your hand nicely.” _

_ Severus’s brow furrowed as he grasped the wand. “Er... It doesn’t feel quite right. Not as bad as the first one, but still not... Right, I suppose.” _

_ Ollivander gave a slight nod as he took the wand back from Severus. “Don’t worry, my boy. We’ll find you a wand that  _ wants _ you...” _

_ The next one Ollivander procured was a Pine, 9 inches, with a Dragon heartstring core. Then came a Vine with Horned Serpent horn. Then Severus lost track, as there were at least five more. _

_ Each time, the wands either reacted violently or did absolutely nothing at all when he flicked them, and none of them gave the warm feeling that Ollivander told him to look for. _

_ Then Ollivander took out a box that looked different than most of the other boxes. _

_ “This one... This one might suit you,” he said as he opened the box. “Cypress, 13 and ½ inches.... Odd, the wand seems to have lost flexibility during its construction, it says in the notes... Not unheard of, but not typically looked upon favourably, as the wand may require maintenance to prevent it from becoming brittle in the future...” _

_ It was a long, rather slender wand—not particularly formidable-looking and not nearly so ornate as many of the other wants he’d tried, but Severus knew better than to judge on first appearances. Besides, it kind of seemed to suit him. He didn’t like flashy things much. _

_ “A strange thing; this one’s core came from America, a gift from Thiago Quintana. My father constructed it,” he said, observationally. “The wand core is a White River Monster’s spine... Such cores have primarily fallen from the market since Quintana’s death, you see... Which is indeed a shame. They were fine cores for wands as I understood... Not quite the calibre of the three supreme core types from what I saw from their spellcasting... But I would not sell it if I did not believe that this particular wand was worth a chance.” He held the wand out to Severus, and the boy plucked it from the box. _

_ Severus’s eyes narrowed at the wand. He moved his hand this way and that... He could tell that the wand at least wasn’t averse to him, like the ones of Unicorn Tail Hair... It seemed to move with him, always finding a subtle balance in his hand, not at all awkward or clumsy in its handling, but... Elegant, if he had a word for it. _

_ He gnawed on his lip, and drew his arm up to point the wand at a nearby flower vase, confident that nothing would happen since the wand seemed to hold a certain power within, but one that it was content to unleash only at the proper moment, and not a moment before. “What else can you tell me about White River Monster Spine cores?... I mean, I think it likes me, and I’d like to know a bit more about it.” _

_ Ollivander smiled. “Always refreshing to see a young one enthusiastic about wandlore.” _

_ Severus eyed the wandmaker.  _ I don’t want a comprehensive history; I just want to know why my wand doesn’t hate me like all the others seemed to!

_ “White River Monster Spine fell out of circulation in the early 1900s after the death of the only man in history before or since who had the capability to procure them—Thiago Quintana. In his lifetime, he only made several hundred wands, but they were all considered very fine—enough that my father wished to try his hand at making one. I have never had the ability to create a wand with that particular core, but from what my father told to me and what I have seen since, their wands are powerful. Not quite so powerful as a wand of dragon or phoenix, but with a distinct elegance and precision that is unparalleled among other wand cores. Again—tis a shame that Quintana never bestowed upon another the knowledge of how to properly capture White River Monsters. I certainly would have liked to attempt it in my search for the best core materials.” _

_ Severus nodded, and twirled the wand again with a quiet  _ lumos! _ before flicking it, whereupon a bright blue glow started from the tip. He grinned broadly. “I’ll take it.” _

...

_ Why did he have to have double Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs first?... He had been fine the whole remainder of Sorting Night, but the day after that, he found himself stuck (no, no. Not even stuck.  _ Trapped _ .) in Transfiguration for his first class, without a wand. _

_ Luckily, Professor McGonagall had been kind enough to spend most of the time lecturing. Severus had managed to read as much as he could about Transfiguration—at least, before Tobias had torn all of his books to shreds. They were still taped together, but it was awfully hard to read the pages that had tape quite literally covering them. _

_ “Wands out,” Professor McGonagall had said when they were about to attempt the practical aspect of what she had just spoken of. _

_ She directed them in the  _ swish-and-flick _ method of wandwork, and Severus did the exercise just about under the cover of the table. He really only had half a wand, and it would have been humiliating. _

_ Professor McGonagall looked at him judgmentally when he did not perform the proper  _ swish-and-flick _ method in her field of view... But she blessedly did not call him out on it, and they moved on to attempting to turn matchsticks into needles. _

_ By the end of class, Severus had indeed succeeded in transforming his matchstick into a needle—he was quite stunned himself, because he had always thought you needed a whole wand to be able to perform spells. But no, his broken wand sufficed quite well, he was pleased to announce. _

_ “Huh—look here, Mr. Snape has managed to transform his matchstick almost entirely to a needle.” _

_ All of the other Slytherins and most of the Hufflepuffs gathered around him. _

_ Severus looked up at the witch unhappily. “Almost, ma’am? Only almost?” _

_ She nodded sombrely. “Do you see the chemical residue left in and near the eye of the needle? A full Transfiguration would not leave even that. All the same, outstanding work. I should like to see you do it again, Mr. Snape, for everyone to see the proper wandwork,” she said, placing another matchstick before him. Oh here it was. She called him out, now even worse since quite literally everyone in the whole year of Slytherin watching him, not to mention the Hufflepuffs. Some seemed fascinated, others disgusted by a show-off. _

_ But he couldn’t show his broken wand... He just couldn’t. _

_ So instead of pointing his half-a-wand at the matchstick... He quickly grabbed his notes, and his quill before McGonagall could stop him... And with a few muttered words... A new, shiny needle was there in the matchstick’s place, and Severus’s trembling hand was still pointing the rolled-up notes at it. _

_ The notes—good  _ god in heaven _ , he picked the most mundane thing. The most non-magical thing in the world of magic. He could have at least swung the quill and made it look neat. Now he just looked like a wandless freak. _

_ The other Slytherins, meanwhile, had one of several kinds of reactions to what they had just witnessed. Some of them looked still-flabbergasted. But some of them (as well as virtually all of the Hufflepuffs) were now backing slowly away from him, eyes lit in abject terror. He looked down. He didn’t... Didn’t  _ want _ people to be afraid of him. _

_ He looked up at McGonagall... By now, her eyes were wide, both in worry and fascination. “Mr. Snape...” But she didn’t finish, because the bell rang. “If you could see me after class,” she said in a low voice to just him as the other Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs all but ran for their things as Professor McGonagall issued out homework. _

_ Once they were alone, she spoke to him. “I would like to know, Mr. Snape, how you managed to turn your matchstick into a needle.” _

_ Severus blushed—which really wasn’t saying much. He was still pale as ever. If her were completely honest, he hadn’t even half an idea himself. _

_ “I don’t know. Truly... I.. I simply used the exact same wandwork you told us to use...” he gave a sheepish shrug. “Just without the wand, I suppose. But I  _ did _ it, didn’t I? No one else even came close,” he said tiredly, wanting to just escape McGonagall and get to History of Magic with Binns, who hopefully was more intuitive than the witch (no pun intended) before him. _

_ Said Professor stood up from her desk, and Snape suddenly felt the urge to shrink down into a pile of nothing, akin to when his father came home fully drunken and ready to draw blood. She approached him, and it was all he could do not to curl into a ball. “Mr. Snape, I don’t think I like your attitude.” For a moment Severus felt faint. “Where is your wand? I should like to see it.” And then he almost did faint. _

_ He sighed deeply, and pulled the pieces of his wand from his bag. “’M sorry, Professor. I... I just didn’t want them to see it... I was embarrassed; I’m sorry.” _

_ For a moment Professor McGonagall’s brow furrowed, then her expression returned to impassive. “When, may I ask, did that happen?” _

_ “Yesterday, ma’am.” _

_ “How did you manage to break your wand just before school?... Did you think you wouldn’t need it, given that you seem to think you have mastered wandless spells?” _

_ Severus shook his head, and for a moment, he thought he might cry. Show weakness... But he knew he oughtn't. “No, ma’am, I... I’m sorry.” He picked up his books. “It was just, broken. Yesterday, it was broken.” He packed up his books and notes, and the pieces of his wand. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really must get to History of Magic.” _

_ “No.” _

_ Severus whipped around to face her, fear lit in his eyes, though he didn’t know it... “Ma’am?” _

_ She held out her hand. “Your wand, Mr. Snape. I should like to have use of it for tonight. If you have Charms and Professor Flitwick asks, tell him that I have requested use of it, and that he should take it up with me... Though I have to admit that you do show promise, even without a wand. By the way,” she called as he was trying to sneak out. “Don’t think that your little song-and-dance exempts you from the paper due next Monday.” _

_ ... _

_ He was able to get out of needing a wand the remainder of Monday. He determined that, as his Monday classes went, Transfiguration would be decent, History would be absolutely dreadful, Herbology would be vaguely tolerable (mostly because they had Herbology with Gryffindor and Lily was among them), as well as that he shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of a broomstick. Madam Hooch even asked him if he had ever even touched one before. Of which—no. No, he hadn’t, for obvious reasons (one named Tobias). _

_ Tuesday, as he was getting breakfast, Professor McGonagall motioned him aside. He quickly left his mates... And returned beaming with his wand in tow, the wood now fully repaired and the core functional. While he still didn’t expressly  _ like _ McGonagall for her mildly abrasive personality and the copious amounts of Transfiguration homework that she had doled out to be due on Monday, he had to admit that she  _ was _ the one who had helped repair his wand, and for that he at least owed her. And when Severus Snape owed someone a favour, he was certain to repay it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have an exhaustive explanation for why I chose the wand materials that I did for Snape. I will not state them here for brevity's sake, but I will explain if an inquiry is made.


	8. Little Wizards

It was a strange thing to have tiny feet pattering around the cottage. It was entirely enjoyable, but it was strange indeed.

It had been... Oh good god. Harry was four months past his fourth birthday. It had been over three years since that fateful day when Dumbledore flooed into Severus’s house via fireplace to snap him out of a funk. It seemed like forever ago. And yet... And yet it seemed like yesterday.

He was still, unbelievably, Potions Master at Hogwarts. And since then, he had become Head of Slytherin house... This, of course, meant that Harry had to stay _someplace_ other than the cottage... And that place, unfortunately, happened to be at Hogwarts, with Hagrid the groundskeeper. Hagrid took a tremendous liking to the boy, and the boy had a liking for Hagrid.... Although, for some strange reason that Snape could not, not even to save his life, understand—Hagrid _wanted_ Harry to call Snape “Dad”.

_“Come on ‘arry! You can do it! For good old ‘agrid! Say it now with me, ‘arry. Da-da.”_

_Snape had just come from a very long day at Potions, and was looking forward to bringing his son (Argh. Not son. His... Nephew.) up from Hagrid’s house, and watching Harry and marking papers... What he found startled him._

_“Say it for me, now, ‘arry. Severus Snape is... Da-da.”_

_“Ba-ba,” he could hear the child coo._

_At this point, Severus didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he burst in to the language lesson. “_What_ are you _doing,_ Hagrid??”_

_Hagrid was standing in a matter of milliseconds. “Ah! Potions Master! Yeah, I jus’ I jus’ figured tha’ li’l ‘arry ‘ere migh’ like to start learning to speak right properly.”_

_Severus was still livid, but at least his shoulders relaxed. “Hagrid.... I’m not his father. I’m his caretaker, at best.”_

_Hagrid just rubbed his neck sheepishly..._

After Hagrid taught Harry to call Severus ‘Da-da,’ Severus had to enact damage control. Severus tried to get him to settle for ‘Uncle’, but Harry couldn’t really pronounce his L’s very well for awhile... And eventually Snape’s insistence on not being called Harry’s father bit him back. One thing led to another, because Harry was a very bright boy, and he could figure things out, and in the June before his fourth birthday, Harry asked, since Snape was his uncle, then where were his parents. That was a conversation Severus had hoped to avoid for as long as possible. But again, Harry was clever. Severs ended up sitting with Harry until well after two in the morning as the child cried himself to sleep.

Of course, Snape left out his own connection to Lily, as that was would have made the whole situation even _more_ needlessly complicated for Harry to understand. He would tell him, of course, just... Not now. Eventually.

After that, Harry had taken to addressing Severus as ‘Pater meus’, and, on the grounds that so very few people fluently knew Latin, Snape let him, on the sole condition that it would switch to ‘uncle’ once Harry learned to pronounce his L’s.

All in all, it seemed to work quite well over the fall of _this_ year.

But back to the present. They were both home for winter holiday. Harry was scrambling around the cottage, ‘decorating’ for Christmas (Severus was unbelievably grateful for the _reparo_ spell these days...). Harry swept his messy hair out of the way of his eyes quickly as he ran around with tinsel, and Severus simply watched... Harry was already looking unbelievably like his father. He had the exact same hair, the exact same lanky look about him as James... But Severus had to admit, Harry was far closer to Lily in personality than to James...

A smile tugged on his face as Harry tried to hang an abused paper snowflake. The boy had gotten a hold of Severus’s wand, he realized with a start—good god, he needed to keep better track of his wand—and was currently trying to use a levitation charm to hang the flake. “_Wingardium weviosa,_” he chirped, his lisp getting the better of him, as it tended to when he got excited. (Again, why Harry was so averse to the word ‘uncle’.) The paper snowflake did nothing. Severus noted that his own wand seemed to give off a strange, vaguely visible aura... As if it were laughing at Harry’s clumsy attempt and knew better than to allow anything to happen.

Severus gave a dry chuckle before he stood up from his chair, his cloak rising up with his shoulders like ink up a quill, and he walked over to Harry, his boots clicking on the scuffed wood floor... Professor McGonagall once mused to Severus that he should try to “look less...Well... Like _yourself_, Severus. You keep walking around like a great big black cloak moving of its own accord and it’ll frighten the patronus out of Harry.” But Harry was far more accepting than McGonagall gave him credit for. He looked up from his snowflake, and promptly held Severus’s wand out to him. “Pater meus, pw-ease?”

“You took my wand, little wizard. You oughtn’t take my wand,” he said, gently laying his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“’M sorry, Pater meus,” Harry said... Although Severus suspected that he wasn’t all that sorry at all. His green eyes were wide as he held his little project up. “But my snowf-wake! I _must_ hang it up for Christmas!”

Severus bit back a laugh and settled for the beginnings of a tiny smile. He picked Harry up into his arms, and held him up so that the little one could hang up his project. Harry quickly taped the snowflake up the way that Severus had showed him. Severus drew him back down, and the snowflake hung at eye level. Hm... He would have to dodge these during the Christmas season... A shadow of a glower of dissatisfaction tried to spread over his face... But then he saw Harry’s eyes... So _very_ much like Lily’s eyes—big, bright and curious, and content to watch the snowflake spin...

Severus glanced at Harry. “So, little wizard,” he said as he knelt back down and set Harry down. “The Weasleys invited us over to their house for Christmas again this year.”

Harry’s smile became impossibly brighter. “We’re going over to Ron’s house for Christmas?”

Severus gave Harry a pointed glance. “That depends. It’s a week until Christmas, you know. If you can promise me that you will _not_ touch my wand again without my permission, then we can go.”

Harry quickly nodded, but his expression was sombre. “Yes, sir. Your wand is...” his brow furrowed as he searched for the right word. “Off-wimits.”

Severus nodded, that dratted smile threatening to overtake his face again. “That’s my little wizard. You may go play now if you like.”

...

Arthur and Molly always invited them to Christmas almost a month in advance. Of course, by virtue of just not wanting an exceptionally _impatient_ Harry, Severus told Harry only about a week before—if not less. (It varied in a narrow range of how long he could keep Harry on best behaviour.) This, of course, meant that much of their time in that last week was finding presents for the Weasleys, but that was alright.

So they spent Harry’s fourth Christmas at the Weasleys’ house, just as the second and third had been spent at the Weasleys house, because quite frankly, the Weasleys were worlds better at cheer and merriment as a whole than Severus had been his entire life... It was good for Harry to spend Christmas with the Weasleys, and Severus had to admit that Christmas cheer was therapeutic for himself as well... He was so accustomed to horrible holidays; it was nice to have some new memories along for the ride. Besides that, Harry had developed a budding friendship with the youngest Weasley boy, Ron. Ron didn’t seem to take a liking to Severus quite so much, but that was about par for the course with most people.

William Weasley and Charles Weasley were in Hogwarts already, and Snape was their Potions Master. Of course, since William took more to Charms (most specifically: breaking them—oh, yes. Flitwick _loved_ him.) and Charles took more to care of Magical Creatures, there wasn’t much to speak of between them.

Percy.... Percy was different. Snape couldn’t say that he expressly liked, nor disliked Percy.... Percy was in his first year of Hogwarts, and, as much as Severus appreciated the boy’s ambition to serve at the Ministry of Magic like his father and Percy’s competitiveness with his older brothers.... Well, judging from Percy’s behaviour and manner during Potions... Severus just couldn’t help thinking that Percy may well have made a considerably better _Slytherin_ than a Gryffindor.

Fred and George Weasley meanwhile seemed to take a genuine liking to Severus.... Although the latter suspected that it was more than likely because Severus had great knowledge of potion ingredients, a subject matter from which they riddled him with questions even before they began Hogwarts... Later on during their school years Snape would remark to Arthur in passing that, had the Weasley twins put half of the work into their potions homework as they did into their prankish conniving, he suspected that they would have easily gotten Es in their Ordinary Wizarding Levels for Potions... Maybe even Os and a NEWT.

In the year of Harry’s fourth Christmas, Severus gave the Weasley twins a copy of his own personal set of rules for brewing potions which included ingredients effects, stirring methods, among other assorted things, as well as what to do when a potion went south—the colour and odour changes in a failed potion were signals of other things occurring within the potion, and Severus Snape had always been determined to discover how every action or mis-action affected a potion (unwittingly aided, of course, by his Potions students. Also, it was for this reason that Severus Snape put so much emphasis on the value of Bezoars. He tried every failed potion himself if he had confidence that it wouldn't _instantly_ kill him, and it was always a good idea to have a Bezoar easily at hand.). He kept all of his copious amounts of notes, and he copied all of what he had so far (an admittedly comprehensive report on the technicalities of potions) into a grand notebook of potions for the Weasley twins to use, with the full expectation that they would use the knowledge wisely.

As it was, they were content to use their gift and... As loathe as he was to admit it—their potions and healing genius—for skiving off of school and vandalizing the grounds. He caught them with some of their little tricks in later years, thought he refrained from reporting them to Dumbledore... Why, he hadn’t the slightest, but he suspected that it had to do with the fact that he appreciated other potions enthusiasts—had they applied themselves, he could have seen them giving him a run for his job...

All in all, Severus appreciated the Weasleys—appreciated them more and more as time went on.

They opened up their home to Harry and to him... They showed him common decency, of which he was, admittedly, not accustomed to receiving. He was thankful to Arthur especially—he presumed that the Ministry most likely would have had him serving out a life sentence in Azkaban by now, and what would have happened to Harry then? He would be living with the Dursleys, no doubt, probably still held captive in the cupboard.

For a few years, Severus still half-wanted Harry to officially meet the Dursleys, but his trepidation was practically palpable. He still mostly-didn’t want them to have any contact with Harry whatsoever until Harry had enough sense to know that they were, in particular, a family of Muggles unworthy of Harry’s attention.

Now, Severus would meet Muggles who were just fine. Perhaps a bit scatter-brained and not very observant of the world around them, but were entirely pleasant and amicable... Hermione Granger’s parents, Martin and Wendy Granger came immediately to mind for an example of perfectly amicable Muggles.

But the Dursleys were neither observant, nor pleasant, nor amicable. They were, as Minerva had put it to Dumbledore oh-so-long ago, the _worst_ kind of Muggles.

Of course, and this was completely by accident, Harry discovered for himself what the worst kind of _wizards_ were at a rather young age, just before his fifth birthday...

...

“Pater meus?... What.... What’s a... A _Mudblood_?”

Severus Snape very nearly spat his coffee back into the mug. He settled for swallowing. “A m-where on earth did you hear that sort of language?”

Harry looked down at his breakfast. “N-nowhere.”

Severus leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. “Mr. Potter. You do not learn that sort of _ghastly _word from ‘nowhere’. Where did you hear it?... Did someone call you one?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no sir!” He looked up. “It’s just that when Draco Malfoy and I were playing yesterday...” he trailed off, clearly regretting his choice of words.

Severus leaned back into his chair. He had needed to see Lucius about a matter yesterday... Lucius said it was urgent Death Eater business, and Dumbledore had put it to Severus to investigate, so... Technically, knowing what the Death Eater business happened to be was the Order’s business.... Or some confusing state of affairs like that. Severus had brought Harry, because... Well. Might as well leave Draco a playmate... Lucius’ urgent Death Eater business was considerably less urgent than he made it to be, but... Well. At least Harry got to play with someone his own age, who wasn’t a Weasley.... Now, in one fell swoop, Severus was regretting... Most of his life.

He came out of his thoughts to find his hand partly over his own mouth, and Harry shrinking ever-further down. “How did it come up?”

Harry tipped his head. “Well... We were playing pretend, because Draco’s father gave him a de-cored wand.... Draco said that we were great wizards at the front of a huge battle, and we were fighting the Muggles who wanted to shoot at us with guns, and the... He said ‘filthy mudbloods and blood-traitors’ wanted to come and get us and feed us and our friends to the Dementors.”

Severus could only describe his own expression as ‘angered’. Harry continued.

“After we won the Great Wizard War and put all of the bad wizards and Muggles in jail, I asked him how he learned that game.... He said his father taught him.”

Severus bit back a snort. Figured, Lucius Malfoy would train his boy to hate Muggles, Muggle-borns, and the so-called blood traitors. Now he himself believed that many times, Muggle-borns were at a genuine disadvantage compared to pure-blood, or even half-blood wizards such as himself, but that Muggle-borns could rise above their situation given the proper training and support.... But the term Mudblood was forbidden in the house of Snape, for rather _obvious_ reasons.

Harry spoke up again. “So... What does ‘Mudblood’ mean? Why did they want to hurt us?

He sighed lightly. “Harry... So-called ‘mudbloods’ don’t want to hurt you. Neither do what Draco called ‘blood-traitors’. Do you remember what we talked about, when we go to the market, that we try not to use magic?”

Harry nodded. “Yes sir. We don’t use magic, because we have to be secret. We oughtn’t let the Muggles know about magic, or the Ministry won’t be happy with us.”

Severus felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. So he _had_ managed to teach Harry something in the past four years... But at any rate, he nodded. “Yes, Harry. But sometimes, very magical children are born to non-magical people—Muggles. We call them Muggle-born wizards or witches. Many of them are very talented. They may need a bit more help, since they cannot be easily taught by their parents, but they can become extremely able and powerful. Your mother was one such witch. But some people.... Some people do not _like_ Muggles, or Muggle-born wizards. ‘Mudblood’ is a very, very mean word for Muggle-borns, and you must never, ever call _anyone_ a Mudblood, Harry. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir....” Harry picked at his breakfast momentarily, but then spoke again. “Why would they not like Muggle-borns, if Muggle-borns are talented?”

Severus tipped his head slightly. “Well, many people who dislike Muggle-borns are pure-blooded wizards and witches from ancient families, that is, both of their parents were magical along with their grandparents and great-grandparents.... But they believe that only other pure-blooded magical children deserve to be taught magic, and they call other pure-blooded wizards who don’t agree with them ‘blood-traitors’. Put simply, they are rude...”

He caught Harry’s expression, and decided to nip a hatred for pure-bloods in the bud. “However, not all pure-bloods are bad, Harry. Your father was a pure-blooded wizard, and he married your mother, a Muggle-born witch. All of the Weasleys are pure-blooded, and I don’t see them calling Muggle-borns rude names...”

Harry nodded.

“Your blood status is not what says whether you are a good person or a bad person, Harry. Your heart determines that.”

“And you,” Harry asked, and for a moment Severus wondered if that the last part of what he’d said fell upon deaf ears. Are you a pure-blood?”

He paused before answering. “No, little wizard. I am what is called a half-blood.... My mother was a witch, and my father was a—” his mind put words in the blank for him, with increasing force.

_Drunken,_

_Violent,_

** _Cruel_ ** _,_

** _Detestable_ **

** _BASTARD_ ** _._

“Muggle,” he finally settled on.

“Oh,” said Harry... Although Severus wasn’t certain whether that was a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’. “Er... May I play with Draco again some day? I want to tell him what we talked about.”

Severus’s face remained forcefully impassive. “If he is already calling people names like that in his games, then I think that you should keep this little conversation between the two of us, Harry... But if you would like to have another playdate with Draco... I could arrange it.”

The little boy nodded. “Yes, sir!... May I be excused?”

Severus nodded, and the little boy scrambled away to do who-knew-what...


	9. Life with Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether to apologize or be proud of myself for releasing 2 chapters in 2 days... Anyways I felt generous, and it's fairly short anyways. Enjoy abounding fluff.

Over the course of Harry’s next seven years—learning how to do basic magical skills, learning basic life skills (translates: Being indoctrinated by Muggles), figuring out that Harry was a Parselmouth (terrifying for _everyone_ involved. Including the garter snake), and Harry getting glasses (perfectly round frames—dear _God in heaven_, child. Must you insist on looking _more_ like your father?), Severus Snape discovered three things.

Firstly, the Muggle world was extremely different from when he last fully detached himself from it, as evidenced by Harry’s tales as he came home from school with homework that Severus could... _Mostly_ help with. He supposed that this was why it could be beneficial to have a Muggle spouse... Although you would have to choose one who would be open-minded enough to understand..... Severus supposed that his own mother just really knew how to _pick them_.

Secondly, Severus did actually enjoy having Harry around... He learned that the very first day Harry went off to school, which happened to be a week before Hogwarts started...the cottage was much too quiet.

Things, of course, became complicated when Snape went back to teach at Hogwarts, however Severus and Harry found a way around it. Severus knew he couldn't trust a five-year old to stay at home while his father taught.... So it then became a matter of having enough floo powder. Harry learned to floo earlier than most children—Severus was determined to teach him, the week he turned five, and by the time Hogwarts’ new school year rolled around and Snape had to leave the house, Harry was a master at the use of floo powder, and.... Well. Severus couldn’t have his son trying to disapparate at the age of five—of which all he could see in his mind’s eye was a horrible splinch.

Harry would go to school and come home, after which he would floo from the cottage to Hagrid’s. Harry would spend the night at Hagrid’s, and then early the next morning, Severus would accompany Harry in flooing back to the cottage, whereupon Harry would go to school, and Severus would return to Hogsmeade via disapparition, and re-enter Hogwarts. The same cycle, day after day. Except on weekends, when Harry and Snape stayed at Hagrid’s.... They did spend an awful lot of galleons’ worth on floo powder... But overall it was an excellent arrangement.

Thirdly.... Severus Snape and Harry Potter were very nearly absolute opposites.

Severus was a quiet, introspective type who measured his words to make them meaningful and didn’t bother with idle chat. Some called it _stoic_ and _brooding_, but... Well, they didn’t know him.

If Harry Potter _didn’t_ have a personality that read _loud_ in great big neon letters, Severus would have _paid a hundred galleons_ to watch someone who did. Harry was always going _somewhere_—always. You couldn’t get Harry to _stop_, much less get him to stop _and_ think.... Although he _was_ clever, so maybe he thought as he ran around pell-mell with Ron Weasley. Or Draco Malfoy, but never both at one time...

Severus was tidy and preferred to have things where he knew he could get at them. He was some hybrid between orderly and disorderly, especially down in his office.... Although the illusion of disorder could have been cast because there was just so _much_ down there. There were enough books that he could have made his own library. And, as Hogwarts’ Potions Master, Snape took it at his liberty to have even more potion brewing supplies than Hogwarts did—not to mention a box with a liberal (even _excessive_) number of bezoars in it, because you just _never_ knew when one might come in handy, especially when dealing with young wizards.

Harry, meanwhile, preferred to have everything... How did he say it? _Out where he could see it_. Which, of course, meant that Harry’s room looked as though it had been raided by mountain trolls. _All. The. Time._

Furthermore, Harry was... Well... _Dreadful_ with potions. Snape had held out a tiny vestige of hope that Harry would grasp potions somewhat... But Harry was truly his father’s son. James didn’t carry a NEWT in Potions, despite having at least something of a grasp of the topic. This was _clearly_ evidenced by an incident during the winter holidays when Harry was nine.

The magical barriers were taken down from the stairs when Harry turned six—there were still some things Harry knew better than to touch, but it was safe to let him downstairs to watch while Severus laboured over his cauldron.... Trying to figure out what on earth went wrong with Quirrell’s potions work, or something or other like that. Severus would be hunched over the cauldron, testing everything, a quill in one hand and a Bezoar in the other. Did the boy not stir it sufficiently? In which direction? What were the effects?.... Harry always watched with fascination, but Severus suspected it was more due to the constantly changing colours of the potions in the cauldron.... It had to have been that... Harry liked the colours. Dear god, Severus dreaded the day of Harry’s first Potions lesson....

After eight years of teaching potions, Severus had discovered many different ways to ruin a potion, the effects of those ruined potions organized by method rather than effects, as well as the proper ways to return them to acceptable condition. It was one thing to brew pre-OWL potions accurately, that was easy. All you had to do was follow the instructions and be able to count, essentially. (Evidenced by future potions lessons, Harry apparently failed at one of those skills. Severus dearly hoped not the latter of the two.) However, Severus swore to himself early on that if any of his pre-OWL students showed enough proficiency in Potions to visibly ruin a potion and then return it to him in working condition would receive his full recommendation for early NEWT Training.

Of course, no one ever did succeed at that. Not the least of which was Harry Potter. Harry was positively _dreadful_. Harry, at the tender young age of nine, discovered a brand-new method to ruin a Potion for Dreamless Sleep that even Potions Master Severus Snape had never seen in all of his years of teaching unruly potions students.

Severus had been making dinner in the kitchen. That was how it started. Then came a strange smell. Snape was no Molly Weasley when it came to cooking, but carrots did _not_ make that smell when they were cut. Then he heard laughter like a madman’s.

So it could be only one thing... Or rather, one person, and one person alone. Harry.

Severus rushed downstairs, half-expecting the lab to be destroyed.

Rather, he found Harry, still-laughing, his nose in a standard book of potions and Severus’s book of notes held oven by the boy’s elbow, his left hand on his chin and his right hand on a stirrer stick in the cauldron... And... Thank god Harry at least had some sense in him—a Bezoar right next to the cauldron. Severus expected to be angered—those were still his ingredients that were now being cooked into some offensive experiment of his nine-year old son’s (God-dammit! Not his son! His ward... His nephew, perhaps).... But Harry looked so unbelievably dedicated to the task, despite the fact that he was laughing...

Then Harry pulled out the stirrer stick, and what proceeded to drip from the stick made Severus _panic_. It was a sickly, toxic-green sludge, belching green smoke. Contrary to everything that Muggle culture about witches and wizards might tell you, no potion should ever, under _any_ circumstances, look like _that_. Harry was still laughing, and his laughter had changed to make it seem like the boy was drunk on butterbeer... Severus wondered for a moment what on earth Harry found so amusing....

Then Harry made like he was going to lick the stirring stick.

“_DROP THAT STIRRING STICK, LITTLE WIZARD_,” Snape bellowed as he practically flew across the room.

“Uncle Sev,” Harry squeaked, and _instinctually_ did as he was commanded, because that was more than likely the first time Severus had ever raised his voice in... Years. The stick plopped into the cauldron, neon green potion sloshing over the side and hissed as it splattered on the table and floor.

Harry was frozen, likely in shock, and maybe some fear as Snape loomed over him like a great big shadow in the low light of the basement. Although there was still a huge smile plastered over his face.... Severus wasn’t certain what to make of that, still.

“H-help, Uncle Sev,” Harry said breathlessly. “Was supposed to be—” he broke off into another laughing fit. “P-potion for Dreamless sleep.”

Severus’ brow furrowed as he looked at Harry, and then at the potion. He quickly took a vial of the offending green potion, and observed it, rather judgmentally. “Smells foul... Dreamless Sleep potions are _supposed _to be purple.. What _did_ you do to this potion?....”

Harry was still laughing. “I k-know. Uncle Sev, help! C-c-can’t stop laughing!”

Then it clicked in his mind: Involuntary potion effects. He handed to Harry a small vial filled with a clear blue-tinted liquid. “Drink all of it,” he commanded, his voice now returned to its normal volume.

Harry took the dose... And immediately the giggles ceased. Harry drew a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said timidly.

Severus capped the vial of neon green potion, and set it aside for... Later use. “You have pilfered my potions supplies, little wizard. You have also tasted your own... _Clearly_ wanting potion—something that _only_ an experienced potioneer should do, and even then, only when he is quite certain he knows that the effects will not be particularly harmful. You could have seriously injured yourself. Luckily the effects of this potion seem to be mostly benign... But that does not hold true for all potions. _What_ have you to say in your defense?”

Harry looked down, clearly drawing a blank.

Severus’s eyes were still judging as he cleared the cauldron with a flick of his wand. “I thought not. Do you have your notes of exactly what you did to make this potion—not what the instructions said, but what _you_ did?”

Harry just shook his head.

Severus nodded slightly. “After dinner, you will stay in your room and record _precisely_ what you did when you attempted to brew this potion, and tomorrow we will speak more on _proper_ potion handling. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, though it seemed that he was still quite stunned that Snape had even shouted at all....

If Severus was honest, the fact that Harry had even attempted a potion was incredible. Harry wasn’t keen on the idea of the precision and patience involved in potion brewing. He tried, he really did.... But if Harry were made to research any sort of Theory of Potions akin to Magic Theory, that was separate from Golpalott’s Five Laws... Harry might just as well have been a Muggle when it came to Golpalott’s Laws as it was. Any sort of Potions Theory would have been completely lost on him....

But despite the boy’s utter inability to even fully _remember_ the function of a Bezoar (dear _God in heaven_, Mr. Potter. I have a box of _nine_ of them in my office desk downstairs!) there was one way in which Harry excelled that Severus did not, and never truly had.

Harry, like his father, was a _natural born Quidditch player_.

It was the summer of Harry’s seventh birthday. Severus had been doing some ingredient collecting in the forest, Harry was playing in the yard with Ron Weasley.

Unfortunately, Harry had taken to sharing Draco’s game, _The Great Wizard War_, with Ron and Ginny Weasley... Thankfully he did refrain from the use of ‘Mudblood’ and ‘blood-traitor’, preferring ‘dark wizards’ to be their enemies instead... Although Dementors were still a big player in the Wizard War, and Arthur Weasley did have a solemn discussion with Severus about Harry sharing with Ginny “exactly what Draco told me!”, which (obviously) came straight from the mouth of a Death Eater named Lucius Malfoy. _Damn_ Lucius.

At any rate, Severus came back from gathering potions ingredients to find Harry and Ron standing over the—good god he couldn’t even leave them alone for five minutes without them getting into everything! He walked over to the boys, who were fiddling with the broomstick that, up until likely three minutes ago, had been in the shed. Now, while the shed was no longer locked, Harry was still technically not allowed to get into it.

Severus Snape remained silent, like a great big blot of ink moving of its own accord until he was practically standing over them...

“How do you suppose we get it started?”

“I dunno, Ron, but I’ll figure it out...”

Ron saw Severus looming over them earlier than Harry did. The young redhead immediately looked back to the broom, suddenly seeming rather skittish.

“Harry... the shed wasn’t locked, right?”

“No, it wasn’t locked.”

Ron said nothing more, but tugged on Harry’s shirtsleeve and once Harry looked at him, he pointed speechlessly up at Hogwarts’ Potions Master.

“Uncle Sev,” Harry said with a start.

Severus had taken that particular tone to mean that Harry knew he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial jar of cookies.

He looked down at the both of them. “_What_, may I ask, are you two gentlemen doing?”

Harry looked up at Severus. “I didn’t know we _had_ a broomstick!”

Ron nodded. “I’ve ridden on a broomstick before, Professor!” Severus did not miss the mumbled “sort of” tacked on as afterthought.

Harry held up the stick. “Please, Uncle. Can you show us?”

He sighed. “Gentlemen, the broomstick does not fly, that I know of. If I am to ride a broomstick, it will be a _reliable_ one.”

“Please? I know _you’d_ be able to make it fly if you wanted.” Harry’s bright green eyes were fixed on him, wide and curious.... Dammit, he would have rather turned his wand on himself than had to deal with those eyes on his conscience... “Alright, set the broomstick down.”

Ron practically slapped Harry in excitement as Harry set the broom neatly on the ground.

He recalled to his mind a very old broomstick riding lesson that he hadn’t even really finished if he were honest. “You must always mount a broom like a horse, from the left side. So the broom is on your right.” He struggled to remember the mechanics of flying on broom... “Lean whichever way you want to go, hold on with both hands...” He coughed delicately. “Up, broom,” he commanded... As usual, nothing happened.

Severus gave a slight sigh, called _accio, broom!_, and the broom snapped up to him, reluctantly.

He mounted the broom the proper way, and attempted to coax the broom forward. The thing begrudgingly levitated him about a foot above the ground, and went forward impossibly slowly. It went forward about twenty feet, then he turned, and went back to the boys. He still could have crossed the distance in half the time on foot.

He sighed and dismounted. “Quite frankly. I would like to have a new broomstick, as this one does not seem to function as a broomstick ought to.... I’m going to be storing these herbs,” he said as he picked up the basket again. “Now... _Please_ return the broomstick to where you found it.”

He made a few strides towards the cottage, then he heard: “_Up, broom!_” and Ron’s scream.

Severus whirled around to find Harry Potter on the broom, flying about a foot above the ground at about the pace of a slow jog, with Ron scrambling after him.

He sighed lightly. “Please _return _the broomstick, gentlemen...” With that, he went inside, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was Gryffindor’s new second-year Chaser, James “Prongs” Potter.


	10. Galleon

_ “We swear it. Headmaster! We didn’t know, we thought he was just going to do some... Strange magic, we didn’t know what.” James looked into the infirmary. His expression wasn’t quite that of... Sorrow, but it wasn’t the expression of merriment that he’d had just a few hours prior. _

_ “We thought that it’d be funny to... You know... Figure a way to... Bug him. That’s why we drew the crowd... Sure, we wanted to make him look like an idiot in front of the whole school, and yeah that sounds bad, but—” _

_ “Shut  _ up _ , Sirius.” _

_ Dumbledore’s eyes were strangely calculating... It was impossible to read whether he was angry or not. _

_ “You are dismissed back to your common room. We will speak later.” _

_ The three of the Marauders left the hallway, and started back to Gryffindor’s Tower. Peter Pettigrew wasn’t so much as involved, having had detention, so he was already back at the Tower... _

_ But halfway to the stairs, one of them stopped. _

_ “Remus, what’s the matter?” _

_ “Are you  _ blind _ , James? Didn’t you  _ see _ what happened?” _

_ “Yeah, kid pitched himself off the Astronomy Tower without a broomstick;  _ half the school  _ saw it, thanks to us. We’re probably gonna get expelled for this,” James grumbled. _

_ “Or he is,” Sirius said musingly. _

_ Remus shook his head. “Do you know what would have happened if we were Muggles?” _

_ James and Sirius looked at each other. _

_ “He’d be dead, and the whole school—that’s second and first years, eleven year old  _ kids _ would have seen him die, thanks to us. Woulda seen him crush his own head into the pavement!” _

_ “They... Pretty much did,” Sirius shrugged. _

_ Remus gave a growl of annoyance and walked back towards the infirmary. _

_ James called after his friend... Remus  _ was _ his friend, after all,, and, despite the fact that Remus wasn’t  _ quite _ as much of a Marauder as an observer most of the time.., James genuinely did care about what his friend had to say. “Remus—Remus, mate, where are you going?” _

_ “I’m going to clear my head!” _

_ James and Sirius made to follow him, with a “Wait, wait up!” At least, they did before Remus turned around. _

_ “Piss off!” _

_ “Well, same to you, Mister oh-so-holier-than-thou Prefect! I’m  _ glad _ you weren’t made Head Boy!” Sirius hollered after Remus, his voice echoing in the otherwise empty hallway. _

_ James gave Sirius a hard look, as if to say,  _ Too far, mate _ . But then he rolled his eyes, nudged Sirius and nodded his head, and they both ran off back towards Gryffindor’s Tower. _

_ ... _

_ She’d not seen it coming. In fact, she had no idea that he was that... Good lord, he  _ could _ have killed himself. _

_ She drew her hat off, ran her hand over her short, steadily greying hair. Oh, she swore, he was responsible for  _ most _ of those grey hairs. _

_ ... All the same, she didn’t think that he would do anything drastic... Hi And as much as Dumbledore was infuriated with the Marauders... It was likely thanks to them that she even realized anything was wrong, and, by direct extension, that the young man resting in the bed in front of her was alive. _

_ She’d passed him in the hallway... He’d been subdued, even more than usual. He was without his books—a rare occurrence, but something that she had foolishly not thought was strange... He’d stayed home from Hogsmeade as well... Not that  _ that _ was a rare occurrence... But he was looking different. Older... More... Well. He looked as if he were more peaceful. That should have tipped her off right away. _

_ But it wasn’t until the students were due back from Hogsmeade for curfew that everything just... Quite frankly, everything went to hell in a Howler. _

_ She heard a rallying call. “Come one, come all, see the spectacle!” James Potter... Undoubtedly some sort of attention-grabbing scheme. Then she heard a chorus of shouts and screams, and half expected it to be Tom Riddle, or even (somehow) Grindelwald, descending from the sky upon Hogwarts... But when she looked out the window, and her eyes followed the direction that all of the children were looking and pointing... _

_ All she saw was a small dark shape standing alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower. _

_ Minerva McGonagall  _ ran _ . She  _ ran _ to the Astronomy Tower, climbed to the top where he was... She knew it was him, who else would be doing something like this?... She threw the door open, and the cobblestone was enveloped in a warm orange glow.... _

_ The boy stared back at her as he stood on the edge of the guard rail, his eyes wide with terror. _

_ He looked as if he were caught—trapped, even—between life and death.... It was as if this singular moment was a galleon, spinning end on end in the air, and he was waiting to see if it would turn up heads or tails. _

_ “You can’t stop me,” he said finally, his expression returning to an unsettling relaxation and his voice as quiet and level as it had ever been... She hated it... It made him sound so logical, so determined. “You can’t do anything. It’ll just happen again.” _

_ Minerva looked at him for a moment.... For that moment, she panicked. She’d never had to deal with anything like this before. She’d never even heard of such things happening at Hogwarts, or any other school of magic, for that matter... Then she came back to herself. He was counting on her... _

_ “I don’t... Don’t want to  _ stop _ you... I just want to talk with you.” _

_ “You’re a dreadful liar, Professor. I’m finished with talking.” _

_ “Then... Well, I’d much rather  _ you _ stop you from doing this.” _

_ “Better... But I don’t particularly  _ care _ ,” he spat as he turned back to the dark sky beyond... _

_ “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you can’t just, just throw it  _ away _ !” _

_ “That is my decision, Professor. I’m of age.” He looked back at her. “No one cares. My being gone will not matter... My fellow Slytherins will not miss me. Lily has James now.” His voice wavered momentarily. “The Marauders attracted the crowd, did they not? Everyone in the whole school wants to watch this...” The bitter anguish that laced the soft baritone laugh was unmistakable. “Might as well... facilitate the entertainment of the masses, don’t you think, Professor?” _

_ “ _ Damn _ you and your  _ logic _ , Severus Snape; you are  _ not _ going to jump!” _

_ He held up his wand. “ _ Sectumsempra _ ,” he said, almost flippantly, flicking the wand tip. The wand tip was glowing white, but the blood was so very red... _

_ “ _ EXPELLIARMUS _ ,” Minerva yowled. _

_ A great many things occurred at that moment. Her Disarming Spell was effective, and it tore his wand out of his hand... But, and even years later she wasn’t entirely certain how this happened, he was able to hold onto it a bit longer than he should have... The force of the Disarming Spell was enough to tip him off-balance.... _

_ Minerva McGonagall’s world seemed to be happening in slow motion as Severus plunged over the edge. She knew she was running, her wand in hand... She thrust her hand out, and as she reached the railing, looked down so that he came into her field of vision, she called out, “ _ Arresto Momentum _ ,”, and three ribbons of pale energy sped towards the falling man. _

_ Dumbledore would say later on that it was this action that quite saved Severus’s life. Had Minerva been any slower, or any less able than she was in Charms, Severus Snape would not be alive to compliment her on her skill. Dumbledore and even Flitwick would say that there was never a more spectacular rescue in the history of Charms, that the Levitation spells, though they were broken by the target’s sheer velocity downward, were the only thing that slowed Severus’s fall enough so that he didn’t die instantaneously.... _

_ As Minerva sat in a chair next to an infirmary cot... Well. She wasn’t sure if he would thank her or not. She couldn’t get the sickening  _ crunch _ that she heard  _ out _ of her mind.... So much blood, even afterwards... _

_ She had hurried from the Astronomy Tower... She found Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey carrying a lifeless, bloodied form back into the infirmary, with Remus Lupin hot on their heels. She had to admit, she thought the worst. But eventually.... Eventually, Severus began looking more like a boy again than a sack of broken bones and internal injuries. He would be kept in the infirmary for awhile (clearly) but what happened then was up for the jury. _

_ Madame Pomfrey wanted to send him to St. Mungo's straight off. Dumbledore was reluctant to, but confessed that it would likely be the proper course of action. They went off to discuss it, with Dumbledore shaking down the Marauders before they went. But Minerva stayed, and watched the boy... Watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful, so very much more than he ever was in the waking world... _

_ Then she heard a scratch, and glanced at the window to the infirmary. Remus. She sat up straighter, replacing her hat, and beckoned him in. _

_ He came to sit next to her. “Professor,” he said with a low voice and a curt nod. _

_“Mr. Lupin,” she returned. After a moment, she glanced at him. “You sent the third spell_ _from the ground, didn’t you? I didn’t recognise the charmswork.”_

_ The young man nodded as he inhaled slowly, but he kept his gaze still to the floor. “ _ Corpus leviosa. _ Another one of his,” he said, nodding at the man in the bed. “Damned genius... it was the only thing I could think of.... Didn’t do much, did it?...” _

_ Minerva sighed, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks to you, I think he’ll live to see his NEWTs.” _

_ “I think that keeping Severus Snape in one piece should be a NEWT class in itself,” Remus said with a bitterness in his voice. “It’s already Nastily Exhausting.” _

_ She gave a tiny smile. “Although he does not forgive slights, he does not forget favours, either, Mr. Lupin.” _

_ They sat in silence for a few minutes. _

_ Remus finally sighed, shaking his head. “Professor, could I—could I have a moment with him?” _

_ She gave him a tiny nod, and obliged him. “I’ll be outside, when you would like to return to your common room.” _

_ Remus gave a grateful nod. _

_ He pulled his chair silently to the bedside... The right side of Snape’s face still looked scuffed—Remus knew for a fact that it had looked  _ much _ worse just an hour earlier. He was the one closest—being a prefect of Gryffindor, and not the oafish Head Boy who was just as aloof as he’d ever been—and he’d been the first one to see Severus, before Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey intervened.... He’d seen it all. _

_ The sleeves of his robes were still rolled up from when he’d tried to give Severus a once-over—checking for a pulse, little things like that... His fingers were still covered in red, although it was dried into a brick brown by now. “This is yours,” he said, “Don’t suppose you want it back...” _

_ He sighed, put his head in his hands. “Look, mate, I’m sorry, alright? You know I don’t totally know how any of what you’re feeling feels, but I know how it feels afterwards to cut yourself up, you know? I know you know I do... And honestly, mate, I’m sorry for all the stuff we did... We thought it was harmless, didn’t know you’d go haywire over it, you know?” He shook his head. “What we did was wrong, I know that... But... You know. Maybe... I mean, you’re the only other one in the whole school who knows my secret, and you want to get us expelled.... But James stopped Sirius’s plan. And... And I know I shoulda done more... But I did more this time... Even with everything that happened, with you trying to get us expelled and watching me and everything.... Mate, if you’ll call the two of us square, I will. And I’m not speaking James or Sirius, just you and me. Man to man. I want to clear the air if you do.” _

_ Remus looked back to Severus, who was still dozing. _

_ “Ah, hell. You probably can’t even hear me, can you,” he said, leaning over and resting his forehead on his crossed arms on the comforter. _

_ He sat there for a few moments, before feeling a tickle on his right elbow. He straightened up a little bit to see what was disturbing them... And found bandaged fingers twitching back and forth. He looked up to see dark, tired eyes, looking at him, puzzled. _

_ A broad grin spread over his face. “Hey, mate, hey,” he said gently as he stood up, getting a bit closer to be able to hear. “You gave us a scare.” _

_ Trembling lips managed a breathless, “Why?’M jus’ Sev’rus Snape.” _

_ “Yeah. With all the usual issues that come with being Severus Snape, I know. I did it ‘cause it was the right thing to do.” _

_ “Right thing?  _ Damn _ y-you, Remus Lupin.” _

_ Remus gave a tiny smile. “At least you’re still the angry Severus I know...” _

_ Severus gave a splutter, and Remus drew a little closer, so that he wouldn’t have to work so hard to speak. “Did you m-mean what you said? Y’ sorry?” _

_ Remus nodded. “I did. I... I didn’t want it to come to this.... And I should have done something to stop them, because I know it wasn’t right... Can we be... You know... Square? No bad blood ‘tween you and me?” _

_ Severus’ dark eyes fluttered, then closed again. _

_ Remus gnawed on his lip lightly, and brushed his hand over Severus’. “Yeah. Yeah, mate... Just... Just get some rest.” With that, he departed the infirmary, and McGonagall escorted him back to Gryffindor tower. _

_ In the infirmary, meanwhile, the lone occupant was engaged in a fitful, pained sleep. Bits and pieces if the waking world wormed their way into his mind so that sleeping was made difficult .. But one thought seemed to be a regular occurrence. _

I need a way to repay Remus Lupin...

_ ... _

_ The next week, Severus Snape was mostly well again, and the Marauders were back to their usual antics.. Madame Pomfrey was dissuaded from sending Severus to St. Mungo’s... For the next three weeks, Severus was only seen in his classes, and went off to do unknown things in his free time. _

_ Only Remus Lupin knew where Snape was the entire time... Although he didn’t actually discover it until almost two weeks after the Incident of the Tower. _

_ It was right after Transfiguration some time later... Remus wasn’t feeling quite well that day—he was getting jumpy and irritable, and he knew exactly why. The Marauders knew exactly why that was, and they too were prepping for their little excursions out to the Shrieking Shack for the next week. They were planning that, much more than they were focusing on homework... _

_ The bell had rang, McGonagall had given out homework, and all of the seventh-year NEWT students began piling out of the room. _

_ Severus Snape had practically shoved Remus out of the way on his way through the door, mumbling something about potions homework. Remus was tempted to do something regrettable.... Then he realized that Severus had pressed a slip of paper into his hand... He pocketed it, not reading it until he’d gotten away from his mates in the bathroom five minutes later. _

Remus,

Sorry for the primitive method of mail, but they couldn’t know. I have something waiting for you tonight when you go to the Shrieking Shack. I know it’s not the Cure, but it may make things a bit easier on you this week. I triple checked the dosage of aconite. It’s safe. I’m really sorry that I couldn’t add sugar... It  _ is _ quite dreadful.

—Slytherin


	11. Dinner with Dursleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most sincere apologies for the delay. I had intend to post this a few days ago, but my schedule got ahead of me unfortunately.

“I expect you to behave in a manner _befitting_ the respectable young future-wizard that you are, Mr. Potter. They are your relatives, after all. While they are.... denser than most Muggles, they should still command your respect. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand...”

Harry was eleven now, and he would be going to Hogwarts in just a few weeks. The letter had come by owl, as Snape had assumed it would.... And he had no doubt in his mind that Harry would be receiving one, so it was no surprise when it did arrive...

Before Harry’s fourth year of Hogwarts (known by Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall as: The Year Everything _Absolutely_ Went to Hell in a Howler and We Completely Let It) summer holidays were spent at the cottage, prevailingly... There, or at the Weasleys’ house. Or at Spinner’s End.

Although Snape was still the owner of Spinner’s End, he detested the place, and kept it only for the sake of saving face in the wizarding community, of not selling the house in Spinner’s End, the property upon which it was built having belonged to the Princes for at least seven generations back... He really didn’t want it. But especially among his Death Eater friends it was important that he not cut ties with ‘ancient magical heritage’. ‘Ancient magical heritage’, his _arse_. Not only was his lineage so hazy with squibs and Muggle-borns that it was impossible to tell if the Princes were actually magical or not, but everything that he had accomplished in his life, his ten OWLs and seven NEWTs, was _his_. They were not his mother’s, and certainly not his father’s.... They were _his_, and his alone. A filthy Half-blooded bastard he was, and _proud_ of it, too....

Of course, his hand-built house and much of the rest of his life for the past ten years, had been shared with someone else...

At any rate, while they stayed at the cottage, Severus Snape had decided to bring Harry back to Surrey, just... Just once. It was ten years after Harry had last left their house... Severus held out a tiny vestige of hope that perhaps they had changed. It wasn’t much. But it was some... He’d called ahead, arranged a dinner meeting.... He would hold out hope, that perhaps things would be alright.

Since Harry had been admitted to Hogwarts, Snape was more trusting of a disapparition than he had when he'd retrieved Harry. They disapparated together to the doorstep at the appointed time, but just for the sake of the Dursleys perhaps being... Well... The Dursleys, with all the usual issues... He decided that setting the ground rules down _before_ entering the house was a better idea, rather than ending up having to enact damage control _after_ attempted hexes....

Satisfied with Harry’s answer, because when Harry gave his word, it usually meant that he was going to keep it, Severus reached his hand out and rang the doorbell.

....

He should have followed his instinct, and decided to _squash_ any hope of Harry interacting happily with his Muggle relatives, _before_ trying for a dinner meeting. Because _bloody hell_, it was _horrible_.

....

A fat blonde child opened the door. “_Mu-um! There are Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door,_” he yelled.

Harry shrank behind Severus a little more. As a rule, Severus tried to make sure that Harry’s clothing was more to Muggle standards, but Harry did have a coat that was an antique and looked an awful like a cloak in its own right, and he happened to be wearing it today...

The fat blonde boy looked to be Harry’s age. Figured.

_Dudley_, his mind told him when he tried to recall the child’s name from the embroidered bibs he had seen ages past.

“We don’t talk to Jehovah’s Witnesses,” Dudley said crossly with a pout on his face.

Snape just attempted to keep his expression cordial. He was failing already. “We are not of Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

Petunia came down the stairs... Good god. When she wasn’t looking like her usual self (that is, like a _hag_), then she had a horrible, overly-saccharine smile pasted over her face, which he hated as well. He simply detested everything about the woman... It was almost instinctual.

“Afternoon, Petunia,” he said, forcing his own voice into some semblance of amiability. “You don’t know how much this means, being able to show Harry his family.”

Petunia gave a sniff. “Yes, well, he was never really any family of ours. Neither was... _She_.”

Severus resisted the urge to explode right there and then, and Harry clearly sensed it, because the young wizard immediately took a cautious step back as he felt Snape's hand move to his wand pocket.

Things only became worse from there. After trying, and failing, to carry on a civil conversation with Petunia and Vernon, Severus took to a secondary occupation: leering from a dark little corner of the living room while Vernon watched crap Telly. Severus also began watching his son (Goddammit.) _nephew_ be entertained by Dudley Dursley. And an intriguing thing _that_ was indeed. Harry seemed excited to see all the new Muggle things... The thing was, Dudley seemed to have a habit of being a destructive little brat. Severus had never seen such a _spoiled_ child in his life. Even the _Malfoys_ would have agreed that this was a crime against the child to allow this to happen.

So, while they was there, Dudley managed to destroy a rather expensive-looking Muggle contraption that Vernon called a 'gaming console', by chucking it out of a window. Apparently it was worth quite a bit of money. Severus could only describe his reaction as being a mix of abject disgust and utter amusement, in equal measure.

They only stayed barely until dinner. It wasn’t Snape’s intention to leave so soon, but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately? It was difficult to tell, honestly) the situation deteriorated so much that Severus and Harry practically fled the house.

And it began _innocently,_ as it almost _always_ does.

The Dursleys had served dinner, and they were sitting down, and Dudley had made such an innocent remark that Severus really didn't have the mind to care. Of course, Severus was sitting next to Dudley, so it was difficult to not to at least _notice_ when worse went to disastrous.

“May I please have some, father?” asked Dudley, pointing to a glass of scotch that Vernon had poured for himself.

“Don't be ridiculous, you're too young,” said Vernon with a dismissive laugh.

Clearly dissatisfied with his father’s answer, Dudley turned to Petunia. “Mum, may I please have some?”

“Not now, Duddykins. In a few years,” said Petunia, trying to be soothing. (If _Petunia_ had ever been _soothing_ in her entire life, Severus would eat his shirtsleeves to his elbows. _With_ the buttons, mind you.)

“I want some Scotch!” Dudley yelled. “I want it _NOW_!”

Harry, meanwhile, had wisely taken to staring at the wall between himself and Severus. For a moment, he glanced up at Severus expectantly out of the corner of a mischievous eye, as if to say, ‘If he manages it, may _I_ have some?’ Severus put a rather swift end to that with just a look... But then rolled his eyes and mouthed, ‘Butterbeers, _later_.’

Severus just barely managed to dodge flying dishware when Dudley hurled his plate across the dining room. It hit a wall and shattered.

“Now Dud—”

Vernon was cut off by Dudley screeching. Dudley grabbed some rolls and began throwing them every which way.

Harry, ever the _clever_ child, was now decidedly picking away at the food on his plate as if absolutely _nothing out of the ordinary_ was going on.

“Duddykins--”

Petunia was cut off when Dudley grabbed the tablecloth and proceeded to drag it off the dinner table... Along with all the other place settings, Severus neutrally observed with a raised eyebrow as his plate vanished from the table before him in a _distinctly_ non-magical fashion. Well, then.

As it was, Harry, realizing that dinner was effectively _cancelled_, got up from his place, and nearly ran for the door.

Severus immediately stood as Harry fled the table, but paused for a moment, to allow pass a failing foot that _would_ have been headed straight for his groin. Vernon had stood as well. “Running away from the dinner table; you see, _that’s_ the result of a failure to take _disciplinary action_; you and James and Lily; freaks all alike,” Vernon announced, while wrestling the bottle of Scotch away from his yowling son, and seeming almost proud at his conjecture.... obviously completely out of his league, given the _doom-heralding glare_ that Severus delivered to him, and obviously not caring at all that he was running. His. Mouth. “Do you use the cane at all?”

A beat.

Vernon looked at Snape as if he expected some sort of praising response, while Snape regarded him with eyes that would cause any sensible person to wither into absolute nothingness... But whether the wizard’s expression was to say that Vernon would meet an unfortunate end at Snape’s wandpoint, or if Vernon was simply the mental equivalent to stepped-on chewing gum was entirely another issue.

“I... feel the need to... _inform_ you,” Snape began, choosing his words ever-so-carefully as to not intermingle the... Er... _Stray hex_ into his statement. “That I shall not raise my hand against Harry Potter.” He gave a tight, measured bow, and missed another solid kick from Dudley as he turned for the door. “Good day.”

...

“I'm... sorry. I thought that things might be different.”

It was some time afterwards... Instead of going straight home, Severus had taken Harry back to the house at Spinner’s End. He didn’t know why, it just felt like a good thing to do—a time to cool down before returning to the cottage. Spinner’s End had always been to them a sort of staging ground, where they went to plan things before a big event, and where they returned after a horrible failure such as this one... Today the dust was unbearable, so they sat on the steps, just the two of them.

Harry hadn’t said a thing since their arrival here .. Severus figured that it was to be expected.

Ugh... So many horrible memories resided here though, at Spinner’s End... Severus hadn’t the faintest idea why he kept the place. It was this house that Severus had fled from, thirteen years ago. It was at this house that he formed so very many of his own personal policies and rules for engagement... Although, in his own mind, Severus knew the answer. Spinner’s End was a fall-back measure, a staging ground, and an insurance policy against a rise in Death Eater activity, so he could keep Harry at the cottage and still save face with Death Eaters by saying Dumbledore had hidden Harry elsewhere. Because Lucius and Draco had only ever visited Spinner’s End... No Death Eater, not even the father of one of Harry’s young friends, knew about the cottage in the country that Harry truly called home.

Although, he supposed that, these days, the sting of Spinner’s End wasn’t quite so sharp. Before, it was just him and his mother... Or really just him. In retrospect, his mother was only better than his father in that she didn’t harm him. Beyond that, there wasn't much of a difference... Perhaps she didn’t strike him, but she still stood by and did nothing while Tobias _did_...

But now, coming back, things... Were different. He had something... Someone... To invest in. It felt strange, but it felt good, to have someone to care about. That didn't mean that he felt accustomed to it yet... Sometimes it still felt awfully surreal, but it was.... Comforting, he supposed, in a way that he couldn’t explain. He was still the same old Severus, who was hyper-introverted, had trust issues, and was developing an _increasingly_ antagonistic relationship with Albus Dumbledore, but it was nice at least to not be alone in the world...

Severus glanced at his son (_god why was this so difficult._) nephew. Harry just picked at his laces. “T’s alright,” Harry said quietly. “T’s not your fault.” He sighed. “But we.... my parents, you, Ron... we aren’t really _freaks_... Are we?” He tugged on his laces hard enough to loosen them. Severus didn’t need to be a skilled legilimens to know that Harry was thinking about having spoken to the garter snake in Draco Malfoy’s presence two weeks ago, and horrifying _everyone_.

_“That’s... not normal, is it?” Harry’s face was pale with fright, along with Draco’s as Severus beheld them and the garter snake slithered away through a gap in the fence._

_“It’s.... different. Not _bad_, but... different.” All Severus could think of the demented snake that Tom spoke to, in that strange, clicking, hissing language... It admittedly frightened him as well._

Severus sighed, and stared at the far stone wall. “What you believe depends upon your point of view.” He glanced at Harry. “Butterbeers at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Harry still looked down. “No, thank you.”

Severus almost lost a step. It wasn’t like Harry to turn a Butterbeer down. The boy typically asked for a second pint at every visit to anywhere that served it, and Severus always had to drag Harry out of the Three Broomsticks before he chanced a third.

Severus paused for a moment, not wanting to risk physical contact (Harry in his later childhood was very _particular_ about how and when he wanted hugs, just like Severus had been) or being insensitive... So he just sort of sat there, looking like a house elf caught at wandpoint.

Harry made eye contact with him. Severus thought for a moment about another pair of striking, brilliant green eyes... His mind returned to the child before him. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and the unspoken sentence passed between them. _Do you want to talk about it?_

Harry looked back across the street, despondent if nothing else. “I'm a Parselmouth; everyone's going to think I’m a freak...” A bit more quietly: “I miss Jacques.” He sighed. “It’s just _everything_, all at once.”

Severus faltered. He hadn’t expected _that_. “Jacques was a good old owl, son. He lived well, had a long, full life.”

Harry winced, and looked down, drawing his knees to his chest before crossing his elbows around them, and resting his head in the crook of his arm. “I wish he wasn’t gone,” came his muffled response with a voice thick from emotion and possibly tears as well.

Jacques had been with Severus since his fourth year at Hogwarts. It had been more than a decade and a half since then—the owl was quite a bit older than Harry... Jacques had even outstripped the usual age of a snowy owl by a considerable amount... But eventually the old bird couldn’t handle his workload anymore and he was retired from service at the Snape residence.... Soon after that, Severus found him sprawled out on the porch, as cold as the morning dew that soaked his feathers. They’d had a small memorial—mostly for Harry’s benefit, as the boy was rather fond of the creature that had been there since day one.... But Severus had to admit, he would miss Jacques dearly as well... As Severus told Harry, the great old owl had many long years of good service under his metaphorical belt. It was fitting that he be rested from the cares of the world. Harry, being _Harry_, was still highly averse to the idea of death... A natural reaction, given his history...

So, back in the present, Severus chanced a comforting gesture... He drew his arm up slightly, and (admittedly with the _utmost_ of hesitation) rested it gently on Harry’s back. The boy did tense slightly, but quickly relaxed. Harry gave a shudder and leaned into Severus’s side and began to cry openly. The latter, of course, did not expect this, and was... Rather surprised when he found his hand not just resting on the broad of his son’s back, but around the boy’s arm as well, drawing him closer. He set his chin on the top of Harry's head, and simply let Harry cling to him and weep. They stayed that way for quite some time.

“We could stop by Diagon Alley tonight, for your books and school things...” Severus still held his son in an embrace as he looked up at the evening sky, which was only just beginning to fade from a blue-tinted indigo to a fiery orange. “We still have time tonight... Perhaps even some butterbeers, _if_ you’re up to it afterwards.”

Harry shrugged slightly, and Severus could feel an odd sensation welling in his chest. It was a warm, filling pressure.... This was one person whom he knew he would protect to his own dying breath. This was one person he would care about, forever and always. Not just out of its own merit, nor because of the obligation he felt towards his own lost love, but a strange combination of the two.

No doubt about it, Severus cared about this boy, dammit, the son of his childhood love and his childhood nemesis. As loathe as he was to admit it, he would have been lying if he said there wasn’t a _tiny _spark in him that more than anything desired for Harry to return at least a tiny piece of that affection.

Harry sniffled, and just leaned more into Severus.

The elder wizard glanced down momentarily, then back up at the sky. “Tomorrow, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge, HUUUUGE thanks to the ever-patient BlueEyedAuthor on FanFiction, who greatly aided me in writing Dudley’s tantrum. So, so many thanks.
> 
> Also: I recognize that Snape is difficult to envison in a parental role, however I happened across an interview (I can't remember which it was) in which Alan Rickman made a remark, something to the effect of having, "always imagined myself as a father of three children, aged four, six, and ten."   
From that, you may draw your own conclusions.


	12. School Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell into a deep, dark hole of homework and no internet connection. Many apologies.

The trip to Diagon Alley the next day was... Eventful, to say the least.

First things first, Harry would have to assess the situation at Gringotts' and determine how much of his school supplies’ costs would be supplemented with money from the Potters’ vault.

Now, Severus had always taken it in pride that he had sustained himself and his son on his salary from Hogwarts, never _once_ having to dip into the funds that he knew James and Lily had left their son....

In addition to his teaching salary, Severus got regular compensation from different literature instalments for being able to publish some of his pioneering work in potions (Second only to Golpalott himself, some said), and (in earlier years) pieces of his progress on his Capstone project, _Second Treatise on Magic Theory, with Special Attention to Muggles_. He was offered a position at the Ministry after his quote-unquote visionary work in bringing a solid, working theory to the explanation of the existence of Squibs in Pureblood families, and the importance of blood purity (which, of course, was _marginal_ to _none_)...

Money was still tight sometimes, but they made do. He thought that he had allotted an ample supply of money to go towards Harry’s education, though he occasionally wondered if it would be enough for seven whole years. Which, of course, was why he needed Harry to retrieve at least a few galleons to supplement the budgeted cost this year...

Snape oughtn't've worried. Hagrid went with Harry to Gringotts while Snape went broom hunting (for God's sake, _don’t_ ask), and Harry came back with a pouch chock-full of galleons.

Severus had to bite back a bitter laugh when Harry happily showed him the... Easily thirty or forty galleons in the pouch, and Harry said he’d only taken a little bit from what was stored in Gringotts.... Even as a child, Severus had to work for the neighbours to get the money to exchange into galleons and sickles and knuts in order to buy his own books and his own robes, and his own school supplies, which were painfully expensive given how he barely owned the clothes on his back as it was.... Compounded, of course, by the fact that his father took a liking to tearing his books apart.... He’d always had to earn what he got... But for some reason, the Potters always owned that same silver spoon the Malfoys and the Blacks did. The little green wisp of envy was quickly squashed by another realization: Harry’s financial future was well-provided for. He would be able to attend Hogwarts... He probably would, even if Severus wasn’t giving him aid at all... But that wasn’t important, Severus realized with a start. Harry was _his_ boy, jsut as much as James’, and that was all the reasoning Severus needed to continue to monetarily support the young wizard through school...

Severus had watched as Harry was fitted for robes for the first time... He couldn’t help but feel a tiny twinge of pride... He’d kept this little human alive long enough to attend Hogwarts, where the boy would be further prepared to survive in the world of wizards... Both figuratively and literally, Severus would guess later...

They had, of course, stopped in the Leaky Cauldron to meet everyone before going shopping... Harry was indeed quite the celebrity, but Severus couldn’t help but be put off when Quirinus Quirrell showed up to shake Harry’s hand... He’d never liked Quirrell much... The Ravenclaw reminded Snape far too much of himself, and in the very _bad_ way... He also seemed much too skittish since his trip around the globe... Severus had never trusted the man, and he suspected he never would.

When Harry went to get a wand, Severus stayed behind with Hagrid, and helped the man choose a pet for Harry... Although really it was just Hagrid choosing; the half-giant had made it a point to get Harry an owl, and a snowy owl at that. Severus had protested on the grounds that it was much too soon after Jacques for Harry to get an owl... But Hagrid’s mind had been made up (he’d said it was something about her eyes that he liked), he was paying for the gift, and there wasn't much Severus could do to stop him...

Harry had a broad grin on his face as Hagrid showed up with little soon-to-be-named-Hedwig... she was smaller than Jacques was, but that was to be expected since she was a juvenile. She’d be a good owl for Harry.... Just from a cursory observation she had far more sass about her than Jacques ever had, but every owl had their own personality of sorts... Hedwig would just take a while to get used to, just like any pet.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry said, holding up the cage and looking into brilliant amber eyes. “Absolutely beautiful...” His eyes darkened for a moment, but the fleeting shadow passed as quickly as it had come. “Hey, Hagrid, do you want to see the wand that chose me?”

Hagrid had beamed, and Severus looked on in interest as Harry pulled out his wand and waved it, and Severus was very close to ducking to avoid anything that... strayed from the wand. Especially with Harry’s record of.... well. It wasn’t particularly important. 

“It’s Holly, eleven inches long, with a Phoenix feather core,” Harry said proudly as he showed Hagrid the decoration on the wand, and Severus gave a tiny smirk. Well. That Holly-and-Phoenix did actually come to good use after all, didn’t it?

Harry looked up expectantly at Severus. “Could we go for butterbeers now, please?”

Severus gave a relenting look, much to Harry’s (obvious) enthusiasm. “Yes,” he said tiredly.

Harry beamed, and began tugging Severus’ down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Severus nodded at Hagrid. “I shall see you, beginning of term, gamekeeper?”

“Yessir, you shall,” Hagrid said. “I oughta be gettin’ back ta ‘ogwarts anyways. Have a nice time of things, Harry! I’ll see you soon!”

...

“You’ll be going with the Weasleys in their automobile to platform nine-and-three-quarters.... I shall have... things to attend to at school in the morning... but I’ll see you there, at the feast.”

Harry had his things, and was ready for the busy morning next. Now they were just preparing logistics.

“Molly Weasley will teach you how to go through the dividing wall... It's a simple thing, really, to run through it, but it is... daunting on the first try, and better if you have someone to run through with.”

The boy nodded. “Yes sir...” He paused, then sighed. “Uncle Sev, I have a question.”

Severus glanced at Harry from his chair. “Hm?”

“What.... What House do you suppose they’ll put me into?”

Severus blinked slowly, his mind in a different place, when the Sorting Hat had shouted _Gryffindor_, and he had lost his best (that is, _only_) friend to a different House of Hogwarts. He forced his mind back into the present.

“I haven't the slightest,” he said evenly. “You never know until the Hat actually sorts you.”

“Well, what House were you?”

Severus paused, looking for words. “...the House you’re sorted into doesn’t matter as much as people think. You see, there are often Gryffindors who are as clever as Ravenclaws. There are Slytherins as brave as Gryffindors... Some Ravenclaws are cruel, and some Hufflepuffs are exceptionally brave... Your house does not... define who you’re going to be. _You_ define who you’re going to be.”

Harry, for the present, didn’t seem to be buying it. After Severus’s statement, he simply remarked, “I’ll bet you were a Ravenclaw, you seem wise like a Ravenclaw should be,” and Severus had to bite back a deep sigh.

“Well, you’re simply going to have to wait to see what the Sorting Hat decides, Harry. I’ll....” he’d been about to say, ‘be happy for you all the same.’ The second alternative: ‘still be proud of you.’ He altered his statement at the last moment. “Support you, regardless.”

...

Hermione Granger, Harry’s new Muggle-born friend whom he’d met on the train was a Gryffindor, as was Ron. Well, that was to be expected for Ron at least... Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be rather sore the whole train ride that Harry hadn’t sat by him, instead opting for Ron Weasley, was sorted into Slytherin, practically before the Hat even went on his head. Again, nothing beyond expected. It was Harry’s sorting that had everyone excited... Everyone wanted to know which House was right for the Boy Who Lived....

...

“Hmmmm.... _GRYFFINDOR_,” the Sorting Hat yowled. A chorus of cheers arose from Gryffindor’s table, and a few unhappy grunts from the other tables.

Harry glanced to his uncle at the beginning of the feast, but the man’s dark eyes were unreadable and distant... Harry lost a step. His uncle had told him that he would be supportive... And yet at the moment, the man just seemed lost in thought.

It was midway through the feast when something rather unexpected happened. Harry had been glancing up and down the table of teachers, and he’d felt a sharp, hot pain shoot across the scar on his forehead... Severus had always instructed Harry to inform someone—either Severus, or McGonagall, or even Dumbledore himself, should the scar begin to hurt. But it was right in the middle of the feast and everyone was happy, and Harry hadn’t the mind to interrupt it over a twinge....

But he couldn’t help rubbing the scar, just to try to quiet it down a bit, and he instinctively looked to his uncle, who had obviously already perceived an issue, and was looking at Harry, _beyond_ thoughtfully. Of course, to most people, it looked like the usual brooding, but Harry knew better.

Hermione Granger noticed where Harry was looking...

“Who’s that,” she asked him in a low voice, gesturing to Snape.

Ron piped up instead, eager to at least know _something_ that Hermione didn’t. “That’s Severus Snape. Potions master. I hear he hates it... Everyone knows he really wants Quirrell’s job—the fellow in the turban? Yeah. He teaches Defense against the Dark Arts this year. Snape wants to be D.A.D.A teacher but Dumbledore won’t have it,” Ron said to Hermione in a voice that was extraordinarily close to gossip, before Harry elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“The bloody hell?... Mate, what was that for?”

Harry shot him a look as if to say, ‘what is said at your house at Christmas time under the influence of butterbeers and eggnog, _stays at your house at Christmas time under the influence of butterbeers and eggnog_.’

Harry’s scar made another unhappy twinge, and he gave a little yelp of alarm.

Hermione nudged him, and Harry turned to her. “What-what is it?”

“Are you really alright? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s... It’s just my scar. Just hurts, kind of. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Harry glanced at Snape again, who was now looking at him in earnest, and was also almost on the edge of his chair.

Hermione once more followed Harry’s gaze. “You don’t suppose... He’s the one doing it, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “I...”

Ron made a face at Harry’s hesitation. “Have you gone _nutters_? Hermione, Snape’s a _teacher_. Besides that, Harry—”

Harry interrupted him. “I don’t think it’s him, Hermione.” He gave a smile. “Besides, it’s gone now. I’m fine.”

And the rest of the day was passed in peace.

...

Potions class was held in the dungeon of Hogwarts castle, which was a great deal colder than the above-ground halls and was in its own right rather creepy, as there were jars of what looked like pickled animal body parts... As it stood, Harry was a bit... Nervous, to say the least. He’d been living at the house of the Hogwarts Potions master, and had virtually nothing to show for it in terms of capability with potions... Well, that would hopefully change.

Harry didn’t expect Snape to come bursting into the class through the door, lending an element of surprise and, in the case of Neville Longbottom, _abject_ _terror_ to the class of first-years.

Snape’s voice was the quiet, even baritone it always was, but Harry found it strange that here in the classroom it carried none of the warmth it usually did at the cottage... Though he supposed it made sense, since it was work and not leisure time.

“There will be no _foolish_ wand-waving or _silly_ incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle _science_ that is potion making. However, for those of you who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to _bewitch_ the mind and _ensnare_ the senses; I can tell you how to brew glory, bottle fame, and even put a stopper in death....” He paused, and the dungeons were deadly silent, except for the sound of Harry’s quill. “Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel comfortable enough to _not_ pay attention...” Harry didn’t even need to look up to know that Snape’s dark gaze was resting upon him. “Mr. Potter, our new.... celebrity.” Harry flushed. This didn’t sound like the Snape he knew.... What on earth was wrong?...

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry visibly faltered, and... Ah, this was the Severus he knew. The one whose face looked like he was in actual pain of trying desperately not to cringe when Harry could not, for his life, understand Potions. And there was something else there too.... sadness? It was a mere fleeting shadow. Maybe he was seeing things.

Hermione’s hand shot skywards

“I don't know, sir,” said Harry truthfully.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.... Huh. That was a new one, too. He solidly ignored Hermione's raised hand.

“Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a Bezoar?”

Harry blinked. He _should_ have known that one, but nothing came to mind. “I don't know, sir.”

Snape’s face was _unmistakeable_. It was the face that screamed, in no words but rather all the body language in the world: _DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN ABOVE, CHILD. I HAVE EXPLAINED THEM TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINCE YOU WERE FIVE._

His face twitched and returned to normal, which, of course, to everyone except Harry looked like one glare transitioning to another glare

“Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?”

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Hermione jumped up, almost knocking over her chair in the process.

“I don't know,” said Harry quietly, and not bothering to meet his surrogate’s glare.

“Tut, tut. Fame _clearly_ isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”

“_Clearly_ Hermione knows. Seems a pity not to ask _her_.”

A rumble of laughter in the classroom, before: “_Silence_.” All was deathly so.

“...Sit down, you silly girl,” Snape growled at Hermione as he strode to Harry's table and pulled a spare chair to it, sitting down. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A Bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite....” He paused, tipped his head, then rolled his eyes. “_Well_? Why aren't you all copying that down?”

The rustle of parchment and quills filled the dungeon.

Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.” And it was this judgment that earned Severus a resentful glare—the very first of its kind to date—from the Boy Who Lived.


	13. Veritaserum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-upload since I made you wait more than a week for an chapter--enjoy.

_He didn’t hear well out of his left ear or see out of his left eye for some time._

_It was the left shoulder that had been shattered, the left side of his head that had borne the brunt of the damage. It was his left hand that required more detailed reconstruction._

_Dumbledore was his only visitor while he was in the infirmary, and then seemed to vanish again after Severus departed the care of Madame Pomfrey. Until the trip to Hogsmeade that Severus had stayed back at Hogwarts from, again.... And Dumbledore has insisted that Severus have someone at his side at all times... Preventative measures, the Headmaster called it._

_For the first hour, Professor McGonagall had agreed to make certain that Severus went nowhere near the Astronomy Tower. If that wasn’t bad enough, she insisted he study for his NEWTs the entire time. Flitwick resumed McGonagall’s position after that hour was up—on that cold and snowy February day, he taught Severus how he charmed the cupcakes to dance. The final half an hour (or less. Flitwick’s cupcake charms took a bit of time to learn) was to be spent with Dumbledore himself. That was the part Severus was dreading. Mostly because, given the situation, he knew what was going to happen._

_“Severus,” Dumbledore had greeted him. “I appreciate you being willing to comply.”_

_The young man gave Dumbledore a toned-down version of the glare he would become famous for. “Had I a choice, I would not.”_

_Dumbledore gave a knowing nod. “I’m certain.” He gestured to a nearby chair. “If you would like to study?”_

_Severus looked down, shook his head. “I’m finished studying; I’ve had enough of it for one day.”_

_Dumbledore looked pensively at him. “Perhaps you _should_ have gone to Hogsmeade?”_

_Severus shook his head. “No... I’d prefer to just be here... honestly, I’d rather be in the Potions lab, brewing—” he cut short. “Researching effects of improper stirring.”_

_The old wizard gave a tiny smile. “Remus Lupin gives his regards,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It is a noble gesture.”_

_“He very nearly saved my life, with Professor McGonagall’s help... I owe him for that second chance. He gave me back my life... T’s only fair I give his back to him.”_

_“Wisely, put,” Dumbledore said.”Wisely put indeed.”_

_Severus went to sit down. Once in the chair, he remained motionless, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular at all._

_They sat there that way for some time. Dumbledore returned to his work, and Severus.... Well, Severus Snape just sat in his chair, like a Snape-shaped shadow._

_Dumbledore finally broke the silence. “Severus... You do know why we have put your protectors in place while you stay back from Hogsmeade, correct?”_

_Severus’ gaze remained fixed at a nondescript point on the other side of the room. “Because I cannot be trusted to not try to hurt myself again.”_

_Dumbledore gave a slight nod. “I wouldn’t have said it quote like that, but yes.”_

_“...”_

_“Severus. Would you like to be freed from an obligation to caretakers, should you prefer to remain from the next trip to Hogsmeade?”_

_The young man straightened up, clearly interested._

_“If you explain to me... Well... Everything... Regarding your actions, the _Sectumsempra _spells and the Astronomy Tower, all of it.... Then I’ll see about rescinding the necessity for you to be monitored during Hogsmeade trips.”_

_Severus’ face returned to a normal glare, although he visibly bit back a snort._

_Dumbledore shook his head after a few more moments of silence between them._

_“Is there still nothing that you have to say? Even, as I said before, under the utmost of confidence?”_

_“Why should your standards of confidence mean anything to me?”_

_Dumbledore stood up from his chair, offering Severus a plate of wrapped candies._

_The young man’s eyes narrowed, but he took a candy all the same. He slowly unwrapped it, and took it into his mouth without removing his gaze from Dumbledore. Dumbledore also took one, a lemon drop, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth quickly. He smiled, and beckoned a chair forward with his wand, sitting right across from his charge._

_Severus, meanwhile, slowly gripped the armrests with increasing strength. His heart rate was strangely quickened, and his mind felt hazy... He gritted his teeth as his chest began to ache, his lungs fought for every breath and even his wounded left hand grasped the armrest white-knuckled. He glared at Dumbledore with dark, hate-filled eyes. “Veritaserum,” he said, his voice an accusing whisper. “Illegal. To. Use. On. Students.”_

_“Fear not, all the candies contained it. I am now under compulsion. I am truthful with you, as you are with me.”_

_Severus now remained silent. _

_Dumbledore’s eyes were still clear and gentle.... _Unbelievable_, Severus thought with a start. If _he_ had ever laced someone’s food with Veritaserum, he wouldn't be able to look them in the eye._

_“Severus, do you know why I need to know these things of you?”_

_He willed himself not to answer, but his body evidently took it at its prerogative to shake his head._

_Dumbledore’s face was ever-more gentle, ever-more caring... Like a father’s face should be, Severus almost thought, before remembering that he was furious with the headmaster for lacing his candies with substance for the unsuspecting student to consume at their leisure, none the wiser, for Veritaserum had no colour, taste, or smell.... one would only realize the problem when it was altogether too late._

_“I need to know why, because I want to understand, I want to be able to help you. Right now, I haven't the slightest as to how I can help you, but I swear to you, I do want to aid you.... Some years back, I knew a boy who made all the wrong decisions... I should like for you to avoid that path.”_

_Severus shook his head. “A bit _late _for that, isn’t it?”_

_Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”_

_Severus’s chest tightened, and willed him to speak... But he... Would... Not. He kept his mouth closed, his jaw clenched tight. His breath stopped coming so easily. He began to pant, and his joints began to ache... A resounding pain throbbed in his temples, and his breath very nearly stopped coming altogether.... His back arched, and his back surged away from the chair, though his hands still gripped the armrest. _

_Dumbledore was standing at his side now. “For god’s sake, whatever you’re hiding, Severus, it’s not worth this! I beseech you, tell me!”_

_It took just that much prompting for the Dark Mark to begun to give itself up. The burning in his forearm was unbearable as it came back to surface... He said nothing, but a screech tore itself from his throat, and his right hand wrenched itself off of the chair to grip his left forearm._

_Dumbledore’s countenance lit with a recognition. Whether it was favourable or not, Severus hadn’t the mind to see. Right now, he was only concerned with the matter that he couldn’t breathe. His grip began to falter and he fell back against the chair as his head reeled with a lack of oxygen._

_Dumbledore gently took Severus’ right hand, and drew it way from the young man’s left forearm... Then rolled up the sleeve. The Dark Mark was clearly visible, and Dumbledore winced. The moment that he did, though, Severus felt the pressure lift from his chest, and sweet, cool air rushed into his lungs. _

_Dumbledore's eyes softened as Severus gasped for air. “Oh, dear boy,” he said as the Mark receded._

_“I don’t need your pity,” Severus spat resentfully. “I made the decision myself.” _

_Dumbledore sat down in the chair opposite once more._

_“...”_

_“Severus, people don’t... Do what you have done, unless they have a very good reason to do so.... Does it hurt you much?”_

_Severus curled up in the chair. “Hurt more to get it,” he said in a low snarl._

_“How... How are your parents?” Dumbledore tipped his head._

_The young man glared at him, although his breath was quickened, and his face was attempting to mask obvious discomfort._

_“Are they well?”_

_Severus... Just managed to shake his head, his eyes as hate-filled as ever they were when he put on the Death Eater mask and harassed people with his fellows, and with _Tom.

_“Your mother?”_

...

“Mum?... Mum!”

He reached his hand to her mouth... Felt no breath.

Her eyes were open and glazed, sightless and unmoving... His were blinded, by grief, by rage...

_A tear streaked down Severus’s cheek. “Murdered.”_

_Dumbledore paused a long while, and Severus remained tensely bundled up in the chair, trying to manage his breathing._

_“Your father?”_

...

He ran down the steps to the living room.... The room was in a shambles, broken china and glass everywhere, dirt and grime...

And in the middle of it all sat his father, a bottle of vodka in hand.

“Wh—ere’s your... M-mother, boy,” he slurred, half aware and half not. “I still have...a score to... Settle.” He was on his feet now, his stance as if he were ready to attack....

_Severus’s glare remained on the far wall. “Murderer.”_

_Dumbledore sighed lightly, and looked at a nondescript point behind Severus. Tread lightly, was the order of the day, he supposed..._

_Severus Snape, meanwhile, was trying to will the Veritaserum to metabolise out of his body._

_“Severus, did your father strike you?”_

_Severus’ glare was cold and hurt, and his answer was painfully obvious though he remained silent, still battling the Veritaserum._

_“Is that why you allowed yourself to be branded with Tom's mark?” Dumbledore leaned forward. “You wished power to avenge yourself?”_

_Severus shook his head and another tear rolled down his cheek. “I joined before,” he said finally and was able to take a breath... Although his voice sounded uncharacteristically small. “I just... Wanted to not be afraid.” He looked back at Dumbledore. “Do you know what it's like? To be terrified of a Muggle?” His voice was like a quiet, bitter jest. “You, who possess powers _beyond his comprehension_... And yet terrified, because of a drunken rage, his strength? What he does to you under the cover of darkness?”_

_Dumbledore nodded, himself feeling the effects of the Veritaserum. “I do understand what it is to be afraid of a Muggle... Of what a Muggle is capable of...” Dumbledore trailed off. “Did you retaliate?”_

_Severus looked back down at the floor. “In a way,” he snorted. “A concerned neighbour who heard a ruckus and called the police...” He looked back at Dumbledore. “The man was implicated for bludgeoning his wife, and then stabbing himself to death.... Although they say the knife they found in his hand was small to have done such damage.”_

_He flicked his wand upwards, with a wordless _lumos. _“_I _for one agree with them.”_

_Dumbledore’s brow furrowed._

_“In the meantime... I have to inherit Spinner’s End.”_

_It was Dumbledore’s turn to snort. “I would have thought that you would want to inherit Spinner’s End to validate your heritage among your Death Eater friends.”_

_Severus glared at Dumbledore, the effects of the Veritaserum starting to wear off. “I do not,” he said simply. “Now. If you’ll excuse me.... I think I’ve had enough _sweets_ for one night, thank you, Headmaster.”_


	14. Disagreements

In all of his time as Potions Master, there were very few students that Snape truly and _deeply_ disliked. Crabbe and Goyle were close on the list, but didn’t make it, quite. Even Neville Longbottom, whom Severus held a sense of contempt for (for reasons admittedly beyond the boy’s control), didn’t receive the title of ‘disliked’. That title belonged to one person, and one person alone: Hermione Granger.

To be clear, Hermione was a decent child, and a fantastic witch—she was smart and clever, and she was one of the only people in his classes of first years who could brew acceptable potions. (Harry, meanwhile, _still_ couldn’t recite the definition of a Bezoar after his first year...)

No, there was another reason why Severus Snape held a deep dislike for Hermione Granger and it was really rather for one reason, and one reason only: She turned Harry against him. She wasn’t _trying_ to do it, Severus was almost certain, but seeds of suspicion deeply sown are not easily retrieved again before they blossom into mistrust...

Snape had been humiliated by Quirrell, nearly gotten his right leg sawn in two by Fluffy (being the inventor of the _Sectumsempra_ spell, he did _not_ use those words lightly), bitten on the hand... And _set_ _on_ _fire_ by Hermione Granger. All in all, an extraordinarily eventful year, for both him, and for Harry.

He, being Harry’s guardian, was understandably livid about the entire affair... Regardless of the fact that the Granger girl had solved his logic puzzle, and everyone survived (except for Quirrell. But who cared about Quirrell?) Severus Snape was livid.

Harry took the train back to platform 9-and-three-quarters, and stayed with the Weasleys for a couple of days while Snape took care of some last-minute affairs with Dumbledore about the Sorcerer’s Stone.

Severus came back after a few days, and they returned to the cottage. The first week was rather (blessedly) uneventful. Severus’ leg began to heal, although it still hurt on occasion. Harry was surprisingly subdued....

...

_“Sir?” Harry peeked a wary head into Snape’s office._

_“Come in,” Severus said in a... He never had a _warm_ voice, in his life... The best he could manage was an _earnest_ voice. “Don’t be shy.”_

_Harry was still jittery- looking as he walked inside and sat down. “Are you my Potions professor, or my caretaker today?”_

_“Caretaker,” Severus said in a voice that betrayed his confusion... Why would Harry make a distinction. “Are you holding up well? You know the grounds well enough by now, I hope.”_

_Harry gave a tiny nod. “Yeah. The kids in Gryffindor are really nice, and I have new friends now... “ He trailed off._

_“You have a question,” Severus said observationally._

_“Er... Yeah. Why... Why didn’t you tell me that you were Slytherin’s Head of House? For that matter, why didn’t you tell me you were in Slytherin at all?”_

_Severus tipped his head slightly, and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t deem it necessary for you to know. You _do_ enjoy Gryffindor, do you not? You have friends... Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger?”_

_Harry shrugged. “I do, I just... Guess I might have been in Slytherin, if I’d known.” Harry looked at the floor. “The hat really considered it, but I... Uh... Begged it to not put me in Slytherin.”_

_Severus stood from his chair, his cape rising smoothly with his shoulders like ink up a quill._

_“I hope it’s alright that I didn’t want to be in Slytherin...”_

_“I didn’t want to, either,” Severus said, a tiredness betrayed on his face. “But the Sorting Hat had other ideas,” he said with a bitter laugh. He nodded. “I think you'll do well in any House.”_

_Harry looked thoughtful again. “Why... Why did you take points away from Gryffindor House in my first Potions lesson? You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”_

_Snape gave a knowing smirk. “I only deducted six points. I’m certain that you’ll recover them soon, if you haven’t already.” He turned to Harry. “All the same, no student—much less any son of mine is going to get away with that much cheek in class.”_

_“M’ not your son, and I wouldn’t want to be,” Harry murmured._

...

Severus walked out of his room one evening about a week and a half into summer holiday, bearing one of his older notebooks, and strolled back across the main living space, to Harry’s room. Harry was currently in his room, silently reading through a spell book and taking sparing notes, a thoughtful look over his face.... Not one bit thinking about what he was studying, but clearly about something else. His back was to the door, so he didn’t notice Severus there at all...

The wizard stood there for a long moment. Since when had his son become so subdued?... Severus had, admittedly, grounded Harry instantaneously after the boy had recovered from the debacle with Quirrell and the Stone, but still. Historically, Harry had never taken to being grounded like he did this time.

In all honesty, Severus was hoping to press the adventurous streak out of Harry before the boy went and got himself killed in gallivanting heroically across the grounds. Because if Severus was honest, there were many _worse_ things on the grounds of Hogwarts than just Fluffy. And this, coming from the man who’d nearly gotten his leg chewed off by said three-headed dog.

He left the doorway silently, and walked down to the potions lab. But today, strangely enough, he didn’t feel like brewing anything. So he sat in his chair, relaxing against the fabric back, and re-read his notes... As if he couldn’t recite the book of notes by heart already. He knew where things had been written, and crossed out and amended in _all_ of his notebooks.

_Wound-cleaning potion:_

_Failure to swing the wand left a fourth time in the mixing incantation: Nulls potion effects, turns grey. No vapour, no smell. Not harmful. OWL grade receivable: A. NEWT grade receivable: P_

_Failure to dip the wand lower on fourth leftward swing in the mixing incantation: Sours potion. Turns grey. No vapour, no smell. Particularly harmful. OWL grade receivable: D. NEWT grade receivable: D_

_Swinging wand upwards on the fourth rightward swing in the mixing incantation before the fourth, dipping leftward swing: No detriment to the final product, and increases potion effects. OWL grade increase: Half one level. NEWT grade increase: Quarter one level._

He sighed lightly, continuing to read. The notes catalogued many ways to improve or butcher the potion... The different listings of effects went from beginning until end, from an O-grade to most D-grades, for OWL and NEWT level students. But for Severus, his work wouldn’t be finished until he had completed the _Troll_ grade listings, which would admittedly take a very long time to accomplish.

“Uncle Severus?”

Snape blinked, looked up from his notebook. “Mm?”

“Are you.... are you mad at me?”

Severus gave a long pause.

Dark eyes met green... and Harry looked at the floor, then shrank down further with a little sigh.

“I was not angry.... I was... concerned,” Severus murmured.

“I didn’t _mean_ to get involved, I really didn’t. I just.... I’m sorry.”

“You could have been killed, and how do _you_ think that would have been for everyone? The Boy Who Lived, killed in his first year at Hogwarts, because he was too prone to prying into things that weren’t his business.” He snorted and looked away from the far wall. “Just like your father, always ferreting about and causing _trouble_, and that’s not even including the _Quidditch_,” he growled as his leg throbbed deeply and he leaned forward, rubbing it gingerly to keep circulation up.

Harry took a careful step forward... He’d seen the injury after it had happened, when Hogwarts’ Potions Master was tending to his leg, aided by Filch, the quasi-sadistic caretaker of Hogwarts’ halls. “Does it hurt much?”

Severus looked up at him silently. _It hurts more to think that you thought it was me trying to throw you off your broom._

“Not much anymore... I’m fine.”

Harry looked at him for a few moments more. “I... I’m sorry that you got set on fire. Hermione and Ron really did think that it was you....”

Severus’ returned grunt practically dripped: _Obviously_.

Harry sighed lightly, and turned to go.

“W-wait,” Severus stood from his chair.

The boy paused mid-step.

“That first week, when you said....”

A beat.

“You said that you wouldn’t want to be...” He trailed off.

Another beat. Harry looked at him thoughtfully, before walking to Severus, and wrapping a cautious, tentative arm around the man’s waist. “I didn’t mean it.... Not really. M’ sorry.”

Severus’s eyes softened, and he leaned over to return the gesture.

Harry looked up at him “Are... are we all good now, Uncle? I mean, no, no hard feelings?”

Severus gave him a pointed look. “You’re still grounded for the remainder of the week, by virtue that your shenanigans could have cost you _and_ your friends their lives, and that cannot _possibly_ go unpunished.”


	15. Second Year

Harry would _not_ go to Hogsmeade in his third year. That was very _swiftly_ and very early-on decided upon. In fact, it was decided upon, practically at the end of his second year at Hogwarts (there were some factors after that, but it was prevailingly decided due to the Chamber of Secrets incident.)

Because no matter what Severus did to dissuade him, Harry was Harry. He was his father’s son. Always going, always exploring, always .... Always _in everything_.

...

_“Cool, a snake!” The little boy was peering down at it, enthralled by the slithering creature. “That’s the Slytherin house mascot, you know. A snake.”_

_“I don’t think that we should mess with it, Draco. Isn’t it against the law to hurt snakes?”_

_“I’m not gonna _hurt_ it... Besides. Who cares about Muggle laws anyways.” The boy grinned, his unkempt blonde hair falling in his eyes, covering a cut on the boy’s brow. He picked up a stick and edged around the snake so that Harry was in one side, and Draco on the other. _

_“Come on, Harry,” he said, his voice cheerful. “Let’s see if we can get him to move.”_

_ Harry refrained mentioning that blood was still trickling out of Draco’s right ear.... He looked at the snake, who seemed to be mildly perturbed at the whole situation. _

_Harry still picked up a stick, and Draco nudged the snake, and the creature recoiled._

_“Oi, mate! Bloody—What was that for? What did I ever do to you?!?”_

_Harry’s eyes snapped upwards. He looked around for the person who had spoken. Snape was coming over to see what they were doing....But it wasn’t Snape’s voice that he’d heard. Harry turned back to Draco. “You say something?”_

_His friend looked at him quizzically, stick in hand. “I said let’s see if we can get him to move. I swear, Potter, you may accuse me of being hard of hearing, but you’re absolutely going deaf.” He returned his concentration to the garter snake. “Hey, he’s going towards you, send him back towards me.”_

_Harry nodded, and drew his stick down..._

_“S’cuse me.” The voice was low, scratchy.... Hissing._

_Harry stepped aside (almost bumping into Snape as he did so) and allowed the snake to pass. “Oh, sure. Yeah, sorry, mate. Go right on ahead,” he said, not recognizing entirely what he was saying._

_The garter snake looked up at him. “What the-?” It darted away._

_Harry smiled at the snake as it slithered though a hole in the fence. He looked up at Draco, whom he expected to have a look of disappointment...._

_But Draco was pale, paler than usual, anyways, and spluttering. “Wh-wh-what was _that_?!”_

_Harry blinked, caught off-guard. “What do you mean?”_

_Draco’s eyes widened. “P-p-professor?”_

_Harry looked up at Snape, who was presently looming over him.... The man’s face was unreadable._

... Good god, Lily. What has your son gotten himself into this time? I said I’d protect him, I didn't sign up for _this_ ...

_Draco spoke up again, sweeping his unkempt hair out of his eyes. “Potter, have you always chatted with garden snakes? Or is this a new thing?”_

_Harry’s eyes widened. So _that_ was why it gained such a reaction... The implications began to sink in, and his eyes widened.. He looked up at Snape. “That’s... not normal, is it?”_

_It seemed to take Severus several moments to get his bearings back.”It’s.... different. Not _bad_, but... different.”_

...

Harry was a Parselmouth, and with the mysterious freezings, it was _obvious_ that Harry would have to be the one who would defeat the _massive Basilisk_ in the Chamber of Secrets, and furthermore _encounter Tom Riddle_. Severus spent his time that semester being understandably livid. _Damn_ Tom Riddle.

_Forget_ that Harry destroyed the Diary. _Forget_ that he bested Voldemort a second time. _Forget_ that he retrieved the sword of Godric Gryffindor... Actually, that was amazing... but still.

Harry Potter crashed Arthur Weasley’s flying car into the Whomping Willow, and gave Severus Snape a semester-long heart attack. As if Harry speaking Parseltongue wasn’t _already_ the subject matter of an extraordinarily _awkward_ conversation with Dumbledore. The conversation about Harry facing off against a Basilisk ultimately resulted in Dumbledore administering reviving salts to Severus as the latter laid on the floor of the Headmaster’s office, after which, a litany of distinctly non-magical curses proceeded from Hogwarts' Potions Master.

It was because of this that Harry was grounded (really in-name-only) for the entire summer holiday. The true penalty for the tomfoolery of the previous school year came to bear _after_ Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban.... Severus could knock out two birds with a single stone—if Harry could not go to Hogsmeade in his third year, he would not only be considerably safer in the walls of Hogwarts than in the wizarding town, but Harry would finally do penance for the sins of the previous year.

Did Harry listen to this ordinance? Of course not. He got a hold of that damned paper, the same one that James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus had possessed back in _their_ school days. Harry snuck out, even though Severus had _expressly_ forbidden him from travelling to Hogsmeade...

And for much of that semester, Severus felt as though he did everything wrong. He was preoccupied, and he spent almost no time with Harry... He had to deal with Remus Lupin, and teaching a second set of classes for a week in every month. In turn, for the first time in _ever_, Harry was openly and brazenly defying him. It had never happened before, given Harry’s history, and so was entirely unexpected. Before coming here to school, Harry was rambunctious, yes... But never rebellious.

Severus had his suspicions that Ron Weasley and the Granger girl were behind it, but it could have been Harry just... well turning into his father’s son. Not that it was a bad thing, inherently, for Harry to become more like his parents than his present guardian, but considering Severus’ record with the latter, not altogether _convenient_, either.

That year, everything just seemed to be in a perfect storm, an utter recipe for disaster, and it began innocently enough, as it really always does.

…

“Headmaster.... good evening.”

Severus nodded, and allowed him into the cottage. Harry was presently away with Ron Weasley—the boys were on a trip to Diagon Alley for their school supplies, and Severus had stayed behind, as Dumbledore had requested a visit.

“A very good evening, it is, Severus, I’m glad you agree.... thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

The great grey wizard stepped over the threshold of the door, followed by—

“Remus Lupin.” Severus said with a curt nod. He gave a pointed glare at Dumbledore. “I was under the impression that this was to be a _private_ conversation.”

The man smiled good-naturedly. “Hello to you, too, Professor.”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, it is a private conversation, between you, myself, and the Subject of our conversation.”

Severus started for a moment. _Subject of...?_ “Well, he’s not a _housepet_,” Severus snorted.

Remus chuckled. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

Severus inhaled at the quip, not sharply, but definitely.. Unamused, as he closed the door. “Gentlemen...” his facial expression was clear. _Please do not waste my time._

Dumbledore gave a polite nod. “Severus, as you know, we have an issue of the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Master only lasting a year at most.”

Severus nodded. “I am _acutely_ aware of the circumstances under which I am barred from the position.”

Dumbledore tipped his head. “Remus Lupin was kind enough to agree to help. He will be the D.A.D.A Master for this semester.”

Severus paused for a moment, and thoughts ran unbridled through his mind.

...

_A young, greasy-haired boy was suspended upside down by his foot, and he was screeching curses, both magical and not ..._

...

_“Can we be... You know... Square?”_

...

_I need a way to repay Remus Lupin... I need a way to repay Remus Lupin._

...

_“How much did you spend on the serum? I need to know, pay you for your trouble... It was the difference between night and day last night, it’s never been so easy; I want to make it up to you.”_

_“No. You already paid in full. I... I wanted to give you something back.”_

_“... You don’t understand, I’ve never.... Thank you. So, so much.”_

_“Just don’t mention it to your mates, and we’re square.”_

...

Severus gave a snort. “And you’d just, just throw Remus here to the metaphorical wolves like that?” The unspoken, _you’d do that, to my _friend_? How dare you,_ passed from steely dark eyes to eyes of brilliant blue.

Remus stepped between the two of them. “_Whom_ Dumbledore chooses to be D.A.D.A. Master is his own business... And it’s not really why we're here, anyways.”

Severus remained silent and glaring at Dumbledore. _Then why ARE you here?_

Remus sighed lightly, then took his jacket off, rolling his sleeve up. “This one, was two months ago,” he said, pointing to a series of healed-over scratches. “This one...this one was last month,” he sighed, tipping his head upwards to reveal a wound on his own neck. “.... I don't have access to wolfsbane potion.”

Severus glared at Dumbledore again. “And who else to brew the potion, but the Potions Master who _obviously_ has _nothing_ better to do than teach seventeen classes to unruly young wizards, and raise a child while he’s at it... And I assume that you won’t be teaching the D.A.D.A. classes during the week that you’re incapacitated, so I wonder... who could... _possibly_ take the job... except the resident Dark Arts expert.”

“It’s not the way we wanted to break it to you,” Remus admitted. “But I guess... Well, you went right for the neck on that one...” He chuckled at his own jest.

Severus gave a deep sigh. “The potion isn’t simple;... it takes time to brew... This is extremely _short_ notice.”

Remus glanced at Dumbledore. “It’s one of the conditions.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Severus, please.”

“You realize, that '_please_' is a bargaining agent, solely for small children?” He sighed... “There a few things that I would like clarified... the costs of supplies, for instance....” He gestured for the other two men to sit.

An hour later, all things were well-decided, and Dumbledore and Remus stood up to leave. Snape stood up as well, to show them to the door. Dumbledore strolled out purposefully, as he did almost anything, and Remus followed him.

Snape had intercepted the younger wizard before the man reached the doorway. He promptly tugged at Remus’ sleeve, enough for the man to look at him momentarily before he let go.

Dumbledore glanced back, noticing that Remus was not actually following him. “Are you coming?”

Remus paused, and looked at Severus. “Actually, Headmaster, I think I’d like to catch up a bit with Professor Snape.”

Dumbledore nodded, almost knowingly. “Alright, then.” He smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll see both of you at year’s start.” He quickly stepped out of the protective borders, and disapparated.

Remus gave Severus a hard stare. “I’m here. We’re alone. What is it that’s so necessary?”

Severus looked down. “I’m still working on.... on It. But progress has stalled.” He paused. “I need more... wolf saliva...”

Remus simply made a face.

“The enzymes are _remarkably_ resilient, but I believe I’m incredibly _close_.”

“Severus... We... We’ve already done it, twice. We've been over this before. We're done. I don’t....” He walked back inside, and sat down on the couch. “You know I don’t have control if I don’t take the serum... I can’t have anything happen. I’d feel sick about it afterwards.”

Severus gave an amused snort as he walked back and stood next to the fireplace. “Why _else_ do you think you always woke up immobile?”

Remus made a ‘_that’s no comfort whatsoever_’ face.

Severus gazed at the fire. “It’s so _close_, I’m _certain_ of it.” He subconsciously clicked the ‘t’. “Within five years of a working formula. A _cure_ for _lycanthropy_, Remus. Not these, _stopgap_ measures that Dumbledore wants... a _real_ cure.” He looked earnestly at his friend. “You're the one who this matters most to.... How... How could you _not _want that?”

Remus shook his head. “I do, I do want it... But I’m not endangering more people. There has to be another way.”

Severus looked at him thoughtfully. “Chain you to the floor of the dungeon and force feed testable potions to you seven nights a month until I find a working cure for your werewolfism?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “_Not_ what I had in mind.”

Severus gave an amused snort. “It was an idea.”

“But it really is that close?”

Snape nodded. “I’ve been reading different Muggle Science instalments... They have some _very_ good ideas these days. From what I’ve gathered from you... Thank you for your saliva, hair, and blood samples, by the way... From what I can tell, Lycanthropy is caused by a virus. A water-borne virus that affects the thyroid gland. The full moon is linked to specific energy frequencies that trigger the virus, which in turn cause the thyroid to produce certain unnatural hormones, and those hormones are what effect the Changing... there's a whole five pages dedicated to this in _Second Treatise on Magic Theory_. Block the virus, or the hormones, and you have your cure.”

Remus looked at him blankly. “You were always more the muggle science-y type, mate... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Severus gave a huff of annoyance and looked into the fire. “Suffice to say, the current potion doesn’t entirely work. It should work, but it doesn’t.”

Remus looked up at him, now interested. “How much does it ‘not work’? Is it one-time effects or permanent? I’ll settle for just getting a little sick every month, while staying human.”

Severus shook his head, and walked to the locked cabinet, opening it with a silent flick of his wand.. “The current potion, from what I gather... It affects the physical transformation, but the mental transformation still occurs... You won’t be as deadly, but you’ll still be insane and violent. And it could deal permanent damage to both mind and soul. It's the opposite of the Wolfsbane Potion, and I haven't found a way to effectively blend them.”

Remus sighed lightly. “Not close enough, then.”

“No. _Not_ close enough....” He pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses from the cabinet. “I _would_ want to cure you first,” Severus said as he poured two small glasses of the magical beverage. He offered one to Remus.

“So... Be your guinea pig, you mean,” the man said as he took the glass.

“... In a manner of speaking, I _suppose_.”

“But... The _end_ of lycanthropy...” Remus smiled happily behind his mousy moustache.

Severus put the bottle back in the cabinet and locked it, before raising his glass. “A promise resolving to eradicate lycanthropy deserves a toast to its binding members.”

Remus’ face parted into a grin. “Eradication. An end to the nightmare.... Never thought I’d see the day.” He raised his glass.

“Nor I.”

“To eradication, then?”

“Indeed.”


	16. Regrets Pt.1

“O’s in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies, E’s in Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures... A’s in History of Magic, Ancient Runes and Astronomy... You could likely pass Arithmancy if you took the test again. You were only three questions away from achieving an OWL in the class. You dropped Divination the first day in...” McGonagall gave him a look. “...You always were less of a subjective type, weren’t you, Mister Snape?... These particular OWLs... Are you intending to become an Auror?

“N-No, ma’am. I don’t want to be an Auror. I just... If I want the mark, then I _get_ the mark.”

Professor McGonagall smiled at him. “I’m glad for your enthusiasm for learning, Mister Snape. And of course I’ll take you into NEWT level classes.”

“Thank you ma’am. I won’t let you down.”

…

_“Mister Snape, do you have a moment?”_

_The boy turned to her, and for a moment, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Perhaps to him, he was. “Oh... er... yes, Professor. Is there a problem?”_

_“I was curious... the bruise on your face, have you gone to see Madame Pomfrey about it? It does look rather bad.”_

_“N-no, ma’am. I didn’t think that it was important.”_

_She looked at him, her eyebrow raised. “You didn’t think that it was important?”_

_Severus looked down. “No, ma’am. It was just a little fight, with someone in my neighbourhood. It wasn’t.... I didn’t break the Statute of Secrecy, so I don’t see how there’s a problem.”_

_“Do you have a free period today?”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

_“I should like to hear from Madame Pomfrey that you visited her today, Severus.”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

...

“Dumbledore, it’s simply... He doesn’t look healthy. He’s a bright, clever boy, even if at times a bit of a know-it-all for his own good... He’s only fifteen... But sometimes I see him running—mind you, _running_ for Madame Pomfrey’s....” She wrung her hands together. “And every single year, after every single holiday, I see him with new bruises and scars... It just doesn't feel right.”

“Then I shall take the liberty of speaking with him tomorrow. You did say that he was due for a detention, perhaps send him to me, instead?”

...

His eyes were wide with terror when he looked back to her.... and it was as if this moment were a galleon spinning end on end in the air, life and death hanging by a spider’s thread in the balance, and he was just waiting to see if it would turn up heads or tails.

...

_“Thank you for fixing my wand, ma’am. You don’t know how much it means to me,” the little boy had beamed before he practically skipped back to Slytherin table._

_“It was no problem,” she’d said in response, though he couldn’t hear her..._

...

_Minerva gazed at Hogwarts’ new Headmaster, installed by the Ministry of Magic. A man, at present, hated by one and all, including the Carrows, who had today come within an inch of burning the man alive on ‘accident’ when they had caught Michael Corner. Well.... So they said._

_He had called her up to his office, just for a visit, a chat.... He was still tending to the burns on his arms when she walked in and sat down, her eyes trained on the clean linen wraps in understanding._

_He was the first to speak, in a low voice and more .... More timid than usual. “Have you ever... Truly and deeply regretted something... That ... One decision changed, that it would better the world?”_

_Minerva glanced at him thoughtfully. “Are you the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or the boy named Severus, who is my friend, and whom I always thought of as the son I was never able to have?”_

_The man gave her a pointed look, before it softened and he looked back at his arm. “Just a lost boy.” He tugged the bandage and tied it off. “A lost boy, who.... Who always thought more highly of you, than of his own blood,” he admitted. “Trying to find where he went _wrong_; why _every_.... _plan_ he enacts.... _collapses_,” he spat. “Why every... _life_ he touches.... _withers_, why every _step_ he takes forward is taken with dread and only puts him _further_ and _further_ and _further _away from his goal.”_

_Minerva tapped her finger silently against the armrest. “And what is that goal?”_

_Snape’s head tipped upwards and his eyes travelled to meet hers.... But he remained silent a moment, then turned back to bandaging his wrist, which he finished, and looked back to her. “I haven’t the _slightest_.”_

_Minerva gave a tiny nod. “We rarely do, and that is why our paths seem aimless... When in reality, you are always moving forward, towards the future.”_

_Severus looked at her after he’d finished, then after a long moment, spoke again._

_“The past _sixteen years_ of my life were governed by a decision that I _to this day_ feel I had practically _no hand_ in making...the only question I ever had was why.... _Why_ did you do it? _Why_ did you send the patronus to Dumbledore? _Why_ did you give the boy to _me_? To _me_, of all people you could have chosen.”_

_Minerva was thoughtful for a moment, producing another pregnant pause. “I did it, because years ago, I knew two young men. One I knew when he was a colleague, albeit in Slytherin House, the other I met when he was a boy in my Transfiguration class.” She looked at him, her face earnest._

_His returned gaze was neutral._

_“The former, took his loss and rage and turned it loose against the world. He became the Dark Lord.”_

_A pause as the Headmaster stood and gingerly walked to the bookshelf behind his chair, turning away from Minerva._

_“The latter, turned his anger and pain against himself, and I stood by and did next to nothing until it was too late to save him. He became one of the most devoted servants to the Dark Lord that the world has ever seen.”_

_The Headmaster turned to her. His eyes were dark, calm on the surface, but with a violent tempest in the soul behind them._

_“Suffice to say, it convinced me of the damage that careless Muggles can do to the minds and hearts of young wizards. And when I saw the Dursleys... My mind took me back to a small boy who always came back from holiday with bleeding cuts and black bruises that were most certainly _not_ from playground rows.”_

_Another long pause as the Headmaster seemed to be trying to collect his thoughts like water in a sieve. She knew. All those years, she _knew_._

_Minerva gave a sad, knowing smile. “I had past sins to atone for, Severus. I did nothing while I had the opportunity, and I am sorry, but I was determined to do something for the Boy Who Lived. I couldn’t see Harry turn into another version of you, Severus. I’d be a fool to allow that to happen to another young, brilliant wizard, when it would be entirely in my power to prevent it...”_

_Severus Snape looked at her for a long moment. “And you... assumed that it was your decision to make because?...”_

_Her eyes blazed into his. “Because, Headmaster, inaction to prevent a known sin, when you have the power to do so, is the same as condoning the act.” _


	17. Regrets Pt. 2

_He never wanted to go to St. Mungo's. Never. It was the one place that he could say that he was terrified to go... And yet here he found himself on the steps on Christmas Eve, with a bundle of flowers hidden in the folds of his cloak._

_He'd already delivered a bouquet of lilies to one grave in Godric's Hollow today, just like he did all eight years before this one while the Weasleys watched Harry... _

...

_“.... Merry Christmas, Lily. James. Harry is well, You'll be pleased to know. He's already trying to walk. I'm certain he'll try to be on a broom as soon as he can... Anyways, have a Merry Christmas... Wherever you are.”_

_..._

_“Merry Christmas, Lily. James. It's been a year. Harry is two now, and is running around my house... He's grown a lot. He's trying to speak, but he has a lisp... Erm... Merry Christmas.”_

_..._

_“Merry Christmas, Lily. James.” _

_..._

_“Merry Christmas, Lily... James. It's another year. Harry asked me where you were this last summer. I told him the truth, and half regret it. But he knows how you died... And I hope he understands... Merry Christmas, anyways...”_

_..._

_“Merry Christmas, Lily. James. He's six now. He looks like you, you'll be pleased to know, James. But he has your eyes, Lily.... Definitely your eyes... Merry Christmas.”_

_..._

_“Merry Christmas, Lily.”_

_..._

_He made his way into the proper ward... This was the first day he'd ever come here to visit... He figured he might as well... It had been eight years since that very first Christmas._

_The Longbottoms were afforded a private corner of the ward, he was... mildly pleased to see. He strode to the chair near the wall opposite their beds. They seemed to be asleep... It was all the better, he supposed. The fewer people who knew about his Christmas Rituals, the better..._

_He pulled the bundle of flowers out of his cloak and laid them on the table beside the chair, but not before charming them to stay vibrant... at least for another several weeks..._

_He sat there, just looking at them for a little while. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Even thinking their names heaped guilt on his shoulders... _

_If Voldemort had chosen these two, these two unsuspecting people... he had to admit, he would have done absolutely nothing. He wouldn't have done anything at all. He wouldn't have begged for _their _lives. He certainly wouldn't have begged twice, from both sides of the war. He wouldn't have visited their graves. He wouldn't have cared one bit about their son... if the child even survived._

_A part of him resented himself. A part of him resented them. They lived. Lily didn't... but his conscience told him that their fate was quite possibly worse than Lily's... here they were, alive, but only the mere shells of who they were.... in effect, they were already dead, they were just waiting for their body to catch up with the rest of them._

_He sat there, just staring, for a long time... Until he heard a sound._

_In an instant, he was on his feet, his wand out and his cloak flying out behind him._

_He looked downwards... to find a small child. Harry's age... _Neville. _The boy was staring up at him, wide eyed, terrified out of his wits._

_Even more than his contempt for Frank and Alice in living (good god, what was his mind coming to, anyways?) was his contempt for this boy. _

_It could have been _this_ boy whom Voldemort targeted..._

_Why the hell _wasn't_ it?... _

_Why was it Lily and Harry? _

_Why did it always have to be Lily?_

_Why did it always have to be Severus Snape who footed the bill for everyone's faults and mistakes? Why must _he_ pay the price for _everything_?_

_He realized his face had contorted itself into a rage-filled snarl. And then with a start, he realized that he had just wished death on this boy... a boy, who was a mere day older than Harry... How could he wish that?.... A bitterness permeated his mind._

_Regardless of how much good he did... He was only just Severus Snape, with all the usual issues. He still detested the Longbottoms... he still wished death on people who, even in his own admission, didn't deserve any such thing. But he was Severus Snape, and that was the way of things._

_Neville slowly backed away from him before turning tail and _running_... Undoubtedly it would be horrifying to find a stranger at your parents' bedside on Christmas Eve... _

_Severus waited a moment before leaving the ward.... It would be alright if he left no traces of his presence... Besides, he ought to get back to the Weasleys house before Harry started to worry...._


	18. Third Year

Even the year before  _ The Year Everything Absolutely Went to Hell and We Completely Let It _ did its very best to earn the title.

As if dealing with Harry sneaking about wasn’t bad enough. Snape had to tangle with Sirius coming back, Dementors who  _ recognized _ him (for god's sake; it always had to be  _ him _ , didn't it?), and Remus Lupin.

He spent all of his free time attending to the Wolfsbane potion and to working on the Cure—he really didn’t have any time for anything else at all.

He took Remus out to the Shrieking Shack the first month, and gathered more blood, tissue, and saliva samples. After all, it would be worth it to study the agent of transmission, the bite. Poor Remus woke up human, but still under the Petrificus spell, with Severus brewing him a cuppa in the far corner of the room. (Remus had remarked that it was a wonder why Severus accused him and Sirius of acting like an old married couple, and the response was a swift lockjaw hex.)

Progress on the cure proceeded in all haste, even with Severus having to teach extra classes.

Unfortunately, with everything that happened, and Sirius still running around—whom Severus  _ hated _ , mind you, because he still saw the man as responsible for Lily’s death—everything came to a head at the Shrieking Shack. As, again, it only ever did.

It all started with Remus forgetting to take his potion that night.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were running around pell-mell as usual, but that was to be expected... He didn’t expect Sirius to take the children captive... He didn’t expect Remus to go after them all. And apparently Remus was better at hiding true intentions than Snape gave him credit for.

He didn’t expect what happened afterwards... He was thrown into a wall, stunned, but not knocked fully unconscious. He still heard the conversation that proceeded without him, that Pettigrew was the traitor... That Sirius wanted to bring Harry home, and Harry seemed to consider it.

Severus thought  _ that _ was what caused a deep-seated anger to boil up within him. That Harry would consider going with Sirius... He had a home already, didn’t he? Sirius Black was one of Snape’s worst enemies back when they were both children... Would Harry really sell him out like that?

But then Severus recovered enough to make it back out of the Shrieking Shack and to the Whomping Willow, with full intent to  _ Avada Kedavra _ Peter Pettigrew on the spot... Just in time to see Remus transform.

Suffice to say, it was a nightmare (although it would have been an excellent time to test a prototype cure if he was honest)... But at the time, he was concerned with preserving the lives of the children... He managed to get Ron and Hermione back to the castle... Harry, he had no idea where his own son had gotten off to...

But it all worked out well enough. Sirius Black would be getting his due... Alright, maybe it wasn’t his  _ due _ , but still. Severus didn’t mind the idea of Sirius subjected to a Dementor’s Kiss. The man had done his best to earn that, even before the past fifteen years or so.

Severus himself was even to be awarded the Order of Merlin.... A nice added bonus.

But unfortunately... All good things must come to an end, and nothing is free.

As always, Suffering is a very old friend of Severus Snape's, and Misery is his cruel mistress who wraps sensual arms around him in a comfortless embrace.

...

“Remus, we need to have a talk. Something has... come up.”

The poor fellow was only barely aware as it was. He was currently sitting across from Severus in the dungeon, newly transformed back, wearing nothing but Severus’s cloak. Well, they’d have to find those clothes in the forbidden forest later on....

Remus was, quite frankly, looking about as well as hippogriff dung. The man was still filthy and dishevelled and had a few cuts and bruises now, but he’d looked far worse before Severus had set  _ Vulnera Sanentur _ and a healing potion on him. Severus had also afforded him a washbasin, which had turned a nasty crimson-brick colour before the Potions master cleared it, and put new, hot water in for the man to soak his feet in, which what he was doing at the moment. They’d been here for about two hours, since Severus found Remus, snuck him back into Hogwarts and into the dungeon, to his office, which happened at... about three AM. Poor Remus was still in the throes of the Changing when Severus found him, but he’d settled down at about four, and had gone back to being a normal human at about four-thirty. Remus looked out from under his eyebrows, the bags under his eyes and the diluted filth and bloodied scratches a testament to the horrors of werewolfism.... this was why the two wizards were so bent on finding a permanent cure, they had resolved.

The man sneezed. He shook himself lightly, and rearranged the cloak on his shoulders. Severus decided to promptly turn his head to allow Remus a tiny bit of privacy until the movement in the corner of his eye ceased once more.

Remus shivered and coughed, his shoulders shaking from the strain. He groaned. “What... what is it?” 

Severus paused a moment. “I.... Remus, I was offered the Order of Merlin for.... well, for protecting the children today, when you...”

Remus produced a glower that made Severus almost proud.

“Apparently the attention paid to the incident, especially with Sirius Black escaping.... they needed something to unearth  _ something _ , regardless of what it would be...”

Remus shook himself again. “Why... why is this important,” he slurred, grabbing at a glass of water on the nearby stand.

Severus’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “They know about the work for the cure, unfortunately that’s just about all they have, and.... well. All they know is that “I’ve been.... in the meanest sense of the word,  _ experimenting _ on you, Remus.... and, as you are undoubtedly aware, lycanthropy research is  _ strictly _ regulated...”

Remus stared at the floor, stunned. “What damage could they do?”

“I could lose my research licenses, lose my teaching licenses, and more than likely be sent to Azkaban for illegal and inhumane lycanthropy experimentation on an non-werewolf.”

“Inhumane, my  _ arse _ . You're the most civil lycanthropy researcher I know. I mean, at least you'd ask my  _ permission _ before  _ sticking me with needles _ .”

Severus remained silent, just looked at the fireplace for a moment, his elbow resting on the armrest of his chair, his fingers brushing his lips absentmindedly as he thought.

“So what can  _ we _ do?”

Severus still gazed pensively at the fireplace. “Unfortunately, not much. If we do nothing, then I might as well kiss a Dementor right now and be done with the act. If  _ you _ defend me, then you mark yourself out to be a werewolf.”

“Not to say that that would be a necessarily  _ bad  _ thing.”

Severus glared at him, a solemn and unwavering  _ no _ to the notion.

Remus looked earnestly at Snape. “I’m just a werewolf. You’re the protector of the Boy Who Lived.”

“I think that Sirius Black is the man who hangs the moon for Harry Potter now,” Severus grumbled as he tried to bundle himself up in his cloak... before he remembered that Remus was using it to maintain his dignity. So he settled for crossing his arms and rearranging himself in his chair to just look at the fire exclusively... which, of course, looked an awful up like curling up from the cold.

Remus sneezed again, and let out a little chuckle. “Honestly, Severus, you really need to tidy up in here; it's like inhaling one gigantic dust bunny.”

“ _ Don’t _ change the subject.”

“ _ I didn’t change the su— _ point in hand,” Remus admitted.

“Sirius Black, making Harry keen on leaving,” Severus growled half to himself. “And the Granger girl is no help, whispering things in his ear, telling him not to trust me...” His countenance turned murderous for a split second. “Always pattering about with her  _ books _ , she probably hasn't got an original thought in her, the little know-it-all—”

“So... she’s  _ you _ , except considerably better-looking,” Remus said with a wry smile.

“With more  _ friends _ .”

“You can't blame a child for wanting friends, Severus. You wante...” Remus trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. “... um... you wanted friends when you were a child, too, if you remember.”

“ _ Acutely _ .”

“So, what's so  _ bad _ about Hermione Granger? I find her a... well... a  _ charming _ young witch,” Remus said, laughing at his own joke.

“ _ The little ingrate set me on fire in her first year for no reason, _ ” Snape hissed. “Do I need  _ more _ than that?!”

Remus gave a little smile. “You always did harbour  _ grudges _ , didn’t you? I mean, you can be loyal to a fault, but you're vindictive as  _ hell _ if you get crossed.” He chuckled.

Severus glared at him.

“You make my point for me, Sev.”

“That is a  _ private _ nickname. Address me like that again, and I'll take my cloak  _ back _ , thank you very  _ much _ .”

Remus laughed merrily, before pain shadowed his face, and he nearly doubled over coughing.

Severus uncrossed his arms and stood up, walking to Remus and grabbing as small dish from on top of the little stand before holding it under Remus's chin and patting his back solidly to help the man clear his lungs. Remus panted and spat up, coughs wracking his frame.

When it had passed and Remus was back to looking only  _ emaciated _ rather than  _ on death's doorstep _ , Severus cleared the dish with a flick of his wand and then set it back on the table. He sat back down as Remus curled up in the chair and  _ twitched _ .

A few minutes passed, just the two of them sitting like that.

“Severus, I need that cure; I  _ need _ it.” He groaned, breathed heavily. “I don’t give a  _ damn  _ if the Ministry knows I'm a werewolf, this has to  _ stop _ .... your research is the best shot people like me have.”

Severus’ brow furrowed.

Remus’ head lolled.”You’ve done the research; you’ve seen the Changing. Even with the wolfsbane potion, you get your innards scrambled like an egg; afterwards you spend the whole day...  _ throwing up _ .”

Severus had taken his cue as quickly as it had come, and he had the dish back under Remus' chin as the man expelled the contents of his stomach, which seemed to consist of a handful of small woodland creatures.

Severus rubbed the man's back gingerly. “At least with you being a  _ teacher _ , I don’t have to lie to your students about where you are. I just tell them you aren’t well.”

“Understatement of the—” he vomited more bile into the dish. “Century.” He shuddered again. “I trust that you're still sticking to the lesson plan?”

“Werewolfism Prevention, yes. My own s... er... Potter is entertaining the idea that I poisoned you. I'm sure Granger still thinks I was being cruel by making you read the papers on killing werewolves. Ron Weasley hasn’t the slightest about anything.”

“They always....mmn... mean the best, Severus. They just don't have all the information. Don’t.... Don’t...” He dry heaved, panted for a few moments before deciding that the bout was over, and he gently pushed the dish away. “Don’t judge them too harshly...”

...

A week later, Remus had his things packed, and he was ready to depart Hogwarts. The letters were coming, he just knew it, but he was fine with the change of pace...

He just wished that Harry could have been told a little more of what was going on... especially after what Severus disclosed to him later that summer, that Harry had barely spoken to him for two weeks after Remus left the D.A.D.A. position... But Severus wasn’t having any of it. Neither was Dumbledore.

Remus supposed that inherently the case of Severus and Harry was one of those strange things that you'd never foresee happening, but somehow still manages to happen. He knew that the situation was far from perfect (because, honestly, Severus was  _ still _ the exact same Severus as he ever was, still far from affectionate [perish the thought], and  _ unbelievably _ ill-tuned for things like emotions), but there was just something about it, some energy that Remus saw. Something that he... well... he didn't quite see with Harry and Sirius.

For all the effort that Remus made into convincing himself that perhaps Sirius was better fit to care for Harry, given the former’s relationship to James... He couldn’t find it within himself to agree. It was probably because he'd seen something that no one else saw, ever... or if they did, they’d never really bothered to pay attention.... He’d seen Severus  _ weak _ . It was only a tiny peek, but it was enough.

Hogwarts’ Potions Master, Severus Snape, was only ever abrasive, cynical and sarcastic... But there was a time, when a boy had cast himself from the top of the Astronomy Tower... That was a boy who had felt, and who had hurt, before he closed himself in from the rest of the world and denied it the opportunity to wound him. Before Lily died, Remus supposed. It would make sense that, when Lily Potter died, a little bit of Severus would go along for the ride.

Remus would never say that he was an expert on the man's emotions... he suspected that no one (not even Snape himself) could claim that title, so he would never really tell what Severus felt, or for whom he felt it... but he was fortunate enough to see  _ when _ Severus felt. There was a strange look about him, Remus figured, a look in his eyes. It was as if Severus had suddenly detected something deep inside of his soul that he wanted to pull out, look at, and keep in a little jar on his desk. Something that he (because you're looking at Snape, obviously) would quickly put down, below a cutting remark or a sneer, and otherwise  _ squash _ until it was gone.

For many years, Remus pitied Snape, who had denied himself the ability to feel, or if he did feel, promptly destroyed all traces that it ever existed.

But watching and listening to the man prattle on, Remus caught wind of a few things, some things that he'd never expected to see out of Severus Snape.

The first thing that Remus established from their sparing conversations was that Harry had needed Severus Snape when he was too young to remember anything, when he was handed off to the man because of circumstances beyond the control of either of them. Harry had needed it, because, while it seemed to most that Severus Snape was the last man to ever care about anything.... well, at least Dumbledore sort of paid attention. He knew what Severus' intent was; knew it very well.

So Harry Potter needed Severus Snape, from the moment that Lily Potter née Evans fell to the floor in a flash of green light. What Remus found so entertaining, of course, was that it was so incredibly obvious (regardless of  _ how _ reluctant Snape was to admit it) that the inverse was  _ also _ true.


	19. Fourth Year

Harry Potter’s fourth year would forever be known as  _ The Year Everything Absolutely Went to Hell and We Completely Let It _ by Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. They never really got a straight answer from Dumbledore as to whether he agreed with their synopsis of the year... maybe the man had somehow foreseen it... but that seemed highly unlikely. Maybe Dumbledore had simply figured that Voldemort was due to return sometime, and that it would better to get everything over with.

At any rate, the fourth year...

Severus supposed that, for him, everything began with the Malfoys. Now, not everything wrong and horrible in the world is the fault of Draco Malfoy... However, many, many things that are wrong and horrible in the world are the fault of Lucius Malfoy.... Lucius Malfoy and  _ Tom Riddle _ , anyways.

Because Draco was only ever a little boy, who tried much too hard to please a father who was disappointed in him. He was a child, called into war by a father who cared so very little, and a mother who clearly didn't want to be there anyways, but sort of got dragged into the whole affair. So, no, Draco was a scared child who had enough insecurities to warrant behaving like a nasty, vile little roach, and joining the wizarding equivalent of a insurgent terrorist organization... and oh, whose fault was that?

Severus could never find it within himself to have a kinship with Lucius... even as a Death Eater. Lucius was the kind of man who could make your skin  _ crawl _ .

At any rate, Harry’s fourth year at Hogwarts still happened.

There was a Quidditch World Cup that Severus allowed Harry to go to (probably  _ unwisely _ ) with the Weasleys, which of course had to devolve into a terror attack sponsored by none other than the pale, white-haired Devil himself, as well as the younger Crouch. Other than that it was a typical summer holiday and start to the school year... Or maybe it was  _ because _ of the terror attack that it was a typical year. Things seemed to just generally become successively worse in subsequent years.

Harry was rambunctious and constantly practising for Quidditch with Ron. Harry and Draco were  _ still _ not on speaking terms after Harry rode the train with Ron on his first year.

Severus drilled Harry in Potions, and the boy was improving.... slowly. Harry’s progress in charms—especially defensive charms—was impressive.

The Dark Mark on Severus’ forearm was continually throbbing and draining away his contentment with the summer holidays.

Again, it was a typical summer holiday...

...

_ “You always look so threatening when you run, Severus, do  _ try _ not to frighten a patronus out of him,” McGonagall warned, just before Harry arrived into Hogwarts, and Snape rushed to intercept him. _

_ Ron and Hermione looked flabbergasted as Snape took Harry by the hand and dragged him away. _

_ He took Harry round-about to the second floor, to a random classroom. As soon as both he and Harry were through the door, he slammed the door behind him. _

_ Harry, meanwhile, looked as though he half-expected a dementor to pop out from behind Snape. _

_ “What did they do, Harry; are you well,” Severus asked, grasping Harry by the shoulders and looking him over briefly for any visible signs of latent Dark Magic the boy might have been affected by. _

_ Harry gave an audible sigh of relief. “I’m fine, Uncle. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just a little shaken is all...” _

_ Severus silently slipped his wand out of his pocket, gently running the wood over Harry’s shoulders. _

_ “What—what are you doing?” _

_ “Checking for Dark Magic, Mister Potter, what do you  _ think _ I’m doing?” _

_ “Can you even tell what  _ is _ any Dark Magic and what  _ isn’t _ , just doing that?” _

_ “Of  _ course  _ I can, otherwise I wouldn’t be  _ doing _ it, would I ?...” _

_ A beat. _

_ “I... I really wanted to see the Sorting Ceremony, Uncle,” Harry said timidly. “Are you almost finished?” _

_ “Patience,” Severus mumble-growled, still engrossed in his work. _

_ “Could we do this later, please?” _

_ Severus straightened up, slipping his wand back into his pocket. “Do you not trust me enough to allow me check for  _ Dark Magic spells _ ? Do you not think you can rely on me to try to protect you?” _

_ “I... I just wanted to go to the Ceremony.” _

_ “Do you not believe that you can rely on me, Harry?” _

_ Harry looked down, remembering poor Remus, who, just because there was now proof that he was a werewolf, Snape had to go off and tell the whole world, just because he was sore about not getting the Order of Merlin. He thought about the first Potions lesson, and the Quidditch match, and the practices, and the anger that Snape had doled out to them when they crashed into the Whomping Willow, and everything else in between. “ _ Can _ I?” _

_ Harry could only describe Snape’s expression as that of a grievously wounded animal, questioning the cruelty of the world. “ _ Always _ ,” he said in a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. _

_ Harry still looked at him with narrowed eyes, and they stood like that for several moments. _

_ “Dismissed, Potter,” Snape said quickly, the usual sneering... clearly a facade... returning to his face like a hastily-arranged coat as he threw open the door and strode back into the Great Hall. _

...

The school year itself, especially the Triwizard Tournament, was rather.... abnormal. Severus spent his time in a constant state of pre-panic attack.

The year seemed to go rather quickly, if he were honest. He barely saw Harry at all, and with Karkaroff getting all nervous, it didn't help his frame of mind. He didn't sleep as much as he would have liked. In fact, some days it felt as though he didn't sleep at all. There was all together too much to think about to not think about  _ everything _ . So he did think about everything, and lay awake all night in his quarters.

Things became gradually worse between Harry and him, as well. It was as if since the second year, the two of them were suddenly weren't even civil acquaintances. Sure, they spoke... but it seemed that at least for Harry, those discussions were under compulsion.

It was something Severus couldn't understand, but that he attributed to Harry's teenage hormones.

...

Then everything went to hell in a Howler, and they absolutely let it. Everything. Went. To. Hell.

As usual, it was Peter Pettigrew's fault. And Barty Crouch, but who cared about him? He deserved what he got.

Severus knew exactly what had happened the moment the portkey opened.

He knew exactly what was happening and he was half-tempted to go with.... but his cover... his presence would only endanger Harry further, not to mention everyone else. So he stayed back, even as the Mark burned  _ unbearably _ — _ excruciatingly _ hot, his head reeled and he struggled to remain upright as he  _ ran _ for his stores Veritaserum, for he knew what was in store. His rage grew as he struggled not to kill Barty Crouch Junior on the spot, the moment he saw the deep cuts in Harry's arm... The Dark Lord had made his boy bleed. He found it difficult to reckon that thought.

However, Snape had to make sure that Harry was safe, that everything was taken care of, that Dumbledore could and would ensure his cover remained intact before he dared try his fortunes with Voldemort.  _ Good god in heaven _ , if he didn't want for a drop of Felix Felicis while he was about it...

He was so quickly reinstated to service in the Death Eaters that he became suspicious. Voldemort was altogether too eager to receive word of Severus' progress in gaining Dumbledore's trust. It wasn't like Voldemort to be particularly forgiving...At least not in the common sense of the word.

And, for almost a month into summer holiday, all was well. He most certainly shouldn't have hoped for so much.

....

_ “Arise, my child. Your sins are forgiven.” _

....

He hadn't seen it coming, and he should have. He should have known from the outset that he, as Voldemort's most loyal and trusted servant from Before, would be the one most expected to having the strongest hand in the Dark Lord's return.

His fellow Death Eaters were in a ring around him when the Dark Mark burned and he disapparated; he should have suspected that something was up from the outset, but it didn't dawn on him until after he was there. It was about the twenty-second hour of the day (that is, about 10 o'clock), the hollow was shrouded in a blanket of darkness, and even the crickets had gone deathly silent.

_ “Severus. My wayward child.” _

Voldemort had stepped forward, announcing himself before he began circling the man caught in the centre of the hollow. He stopped, and approached.... Severus knelt before him, out of habit, out of necessity. He remained motionless, silent... felt a deadly wandpoint trace his jaw from his ear to his chin, then tip his head upwards to set his eyes on a horrible-looking face... 

Hell twisted Tom's mind to evil, heaven malformed his body to match...

_ “My poor, disbelieving child. My... unfaithful child.” _

Severus' eyes were closed in resignation before the first  _ crucio _ came.

...

He woke up several hours later in the hollow, his nerves still ringing with the spells.

Physical, sometimes referred to as  _ Mugglish _ effects of spells, and especially the Cruciatus Curse, on the human body was something that had intensely intrigued him since he had begun his research into Magic Theory. Given that the Cruciatus curse was intended to effect pain in the whole body without damaging it, and it was known to cause insanity in the victims after long periods of usage, the curse was more than likely something that stimulated pain receptors in the brain.

Which, of course, was absolutely no comfort, and he was probably the only person in the world who cared, but still. It was something to think about, instead of the blinding pain and disorientation that came with the Cruciatus Curse.

But the fact of the matter is... Death Eaters, despite the fact that they are colleagues and comrades-in-arms, have a tendency to...  _ hate each other _ . It likely isn't anything personal... but every person in a mask standing next to you is someone you have to compete with for the Dark Lord's favour. Even then, In the Dark Lord's Favour is a rather  _ dangerous _ place to be. Not only do your fellows want to kill you and take your place, but the Dark Lord is more wont to hold you responsible for everything that goes wrong with his plans. Meaning that being a weasel and dodging Cruciatus curses becomes second nature, since they come from above in the pecking order, and from below as well.

So, when Severus was laying there, gasping for air, trying to recover his wits about his enough to stand, he reflected on how poorly he had chosen his so-called friends (he was seventeen and stupid, but still), who were willing to  _ crucio the living daylights out of him _ in order to gain more favour from the Dark Lord.

_ “Arise, my child. Your sins are forgiven.” _

Voldemort stepped close to him, and offered a pale hand. Severus took it, and was lifted up onto unsteady legs. His head reeled as Voldemort spoke again.

“You may go now. Rest. Recover. I shall summon you again, eventually.”

Severus dipped his head in acknowledgement, and disapparated back to Spinner's End, before disapparating to the cottage. He stopped at Spinner's End to ensure that no one was following him; he couldn't have the other Death Eaters knowing where Harry was.... He was, of course, really in no frame of awareness to be disapparating.... much less twice.

He knew he only stayed at Spinner's End for an instant.... but he was almost certain he splinched himself on the disapparition back to the cottage. He felt intense pain in his leg as he effectively fell forward onto the stair, his exhausted, battered body having finally had enough of his nonsense, and now refusing to answer to his command. His head lolled as he groaned, and he heard stirring from inside as the darkness that had been lapping at the edges of his vision finally overtook him.

...

_ What dreams may come to those who sleep but leave Dark thoughts to permeate their waking minds? _

...

Severus was aware of intense pain in his right lower leg. That was the first thing. Then he was aware that it was early morning.... Then he realized that it wasn't just his lower leg that was in extreme pain... it was the rest of him, too. Then he remembered the  _ crucio _ spells, and everything started to fuzzily click back into place. Voldemort's face swam in his mind's eye and it occurred to him that perhaps he would have preferred to  _ not _ know what happened last night

He shifted, his left arm falling off the couch, and hitting something... soft and warm. That also happened to give a yelp. Severus hadn't the presence of mind to think what it was, until Harry popped up into his field of vision.

The boy was dishevelled, the rebellious long hair of course lent itself to that.... but the smile on Harry's face was brighter than daylight.

Severus blinked. Twice. His mind was still, admittedly, not quite present enough to process much of anything.

“Uncle Sev!... I didn't know if the bandage would hold... but it stopped the bleeding, I guess. How do you feel?”

Severus looked blankly at him.... suddenly feeling very ready to throw up. He turned over onto his side, completely ready to empty his stomach onto the floor... But Harry was faster, producing a bucket instead.

When Severus had finished voiding his stomach of bile, he laid back on the couch and just tried to catch his breath.

“You almost died, by the way. Twice,” Harry said matter-of-factly as he set the bucket down. “Also, you’re welcome.”

Severus tilted his head to see his leg, which had a very bloodied bandage tied over it. So it  _ was _ a splinch... That was a.... comfort, in a strange way. He tried to sit up, before his body protested so  _ pointedly _ that he decided it would be best  _ not _ to.

Harry had, by this time, returned with more bandages, a cloth, and a basin of water. He also came bearing a vial of what was  _ clearly _ wound cleaning potion from Severus' stores. Severus would have to have words with him about raiding the potions cabinet. Again.

Just because Harry knew the  _ Alohomora _ spell did  _ not _ mean that he was at liberty to use it... especially at home. Then something else occurred to him. Since Harry was still under the underage ban... Oh god. Harry stole his wand again. Words about that then, as well... He tried to sit up again, a scowl plastered over his face.... Harry put a stop to it this time, pressing him back down with a gentle hand on the older wizard's chest. Severus's head reeled at the backwards momentum and he groaned again before lying back down on the couch.

“Easy, easy Uncle. You lost a lot of blood, and those  _ crucio _ s don't help matters.”

“How?...” The unsaid  _ the hell do you know what that is _ hung in the air for a moment.

“Professor Moody... Or, Barty Crouch Junior, I suppose... He showed us warning signs of  _ crucio _ s to look for. It was, sort of a first aid thing I guess... It was worth it, anyways.” Harry was now near the far end of the couch. “Brace. This is probably going to sting.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Harry pulled the bandages away and Severus got a good look at the damage. It was to be expected, a decent chunk of flesh was still gone... but he also spied dittany under the bandage. Well, Harry at least had sense and some healing magic knowledge.

The next couple of minutes were spent in intense concentration, both on Harry's part, trying to dress the wound again, and on Severus' part, trying to keep his face impassive and not alarm Harry. The wound cleaning potion was... well. It was particularly strong today.

Harry, being Harry, was unaccustomed to the spell used to activate wound cleaning potion and extra dittany. While it was written down in one of Severus' notebooks (Yes, Harry went through literally  _ all _ of them and made an absolute mess), Harry didn't know the proper inflection, and decided to  _ not _ do any more damage than necessary if the spell went bad...

Unfortunately the 'golden hours' for regeneration had long since passed, so it wouldn't have made a difference if Severus did it himself or not... Hogwarts' Potions Master learned that he'd been unconscious for more than a day. A bit disconcerting in itself, but not exactly unexpected... After all, the best thing one could do after being  _ crucio _ ed is sleep it off... of course, often that's not really an option, but it is actually the best thing to do. Sleep, and then have some chocolate. Sleep affords the brain and nervous system to right itself after the intense trauma of Dementors, Legilimency, Occlumency, or any of the Lesser Unforgivable Curses (because after  _ Avada kedavra _ , of course, you aren't really going to  _ care _ )...

So that was that. Severus Snape ended up with another nice long scar for his trouble of disapparating when he had absolutely no right to be disapparating. He had no idea where the other part of his leg was... it could have been at Spinner's End... it could have been virtually anywhere. Somewhere there was a chunk of him lying around for some helpless Muggle to find and be horrified at... Well, there were more disconcerting things to think about, for example why Harry was suddenly acting like he cared.

Severus shouldn't have worried about that....

Harry was still Harry, and as soon as Severus was walking again, any form of care that he had seemed to have absolutely disintegrated.

In fact, he should have simply taken it in stride and not even bothered asking why Harry had been acting differently.

“Well, I couldn't let Hogwarts' Master bleed to death, Dumbledore would've had words with me about that.... but as long as we're talking emotions, could you... not look at me like that, please?”

“What?...”

“Like you're all sad. It's  _ horrifying _ .”

“...”


	20. The Secrets We Share in the Dark

** _A Second Treatise on Magic Theory, with Special Attention to Muggles_ **

_S. Snape; PmD../MTmD., DMrL., MTrL., UWNLA-certified_

** _Abstract_ **

_For more than a thousand years, magic was practiced without attempts to understand its nature. Great leaps and advances were made in magic without an understanding of what drove these powers themselves, and the nature of how they manifest in the wizard or witch. The likes of wizard kind have not seen a more poignant tragedy than the Week’s War, the ultimate culmination of a misunderstanding of the nature of magic: the deaths of nearly six thousand Witches, Wizards, and Muggles in Europe.**_

_In 1735, Augustus Rathworth attempted to provide a more suitable explanation for magic in his _A Treatise on Magic Theory_. While the _Treatise_ did not explain fully the nature of magic as it pertains to wandwork and the inheritance of magical abilities, it did lay the groundwork for more research into the field. Combined with the discovery of _nuclear power_ by Muggles, Rathworth's visionary work indicates a need for increasingly hybridized interpretations of magic._

_In this S_econd Treatise_, I seek to answer questions of the nature of magic as a rotating particle wave-type emission similar to light, provide an explanation for the Changing of a werewolf, give a comprehensive definition of the value of the purity of blood (with special attention to Squibs), and demonstrate the phenomenon of both forms of the Patronus charm and the creation of a Horcrux as the ultimate manifestations of their respective energetic properties._

_..._

_*The Week’s War was a series of ten retaliatory attacks by militant Pure-blooded and some Beyond-second generation Half-Blooded Wizards against Muggle-borns, First-generation Half-Bloods and their families, and many random Muggles, carried out over a period of two weeks. The attacks resulted in the deaths of eighty-three innocent Pure-blooded wizards, a hundred and twenty innocent first-generation Half-blooded wizards, fifty-seven combatant Wizards, and a stunning seven hundred twenty-two Muggles, in England alone. The death toll in Europe exceeded five thousand, in both wizard and Muggle kind. The Half-Blood War effectively ended the Peace Talks and ultimately furthered the establishment of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692. Although not officially considered part of the Week’s War, violent attacks on Muggles and Muggle-born wizards (sometimes even against infants) persisted after the establishment of the ISWS, for more than ten years._

**_All historical information is taken from the 1st edition of A History of Magic, the only edition left untouched by the Ministry of Magic._

_..._

** _Handbook to Severus Snape's Second Treatise on Magic Theory; 3rd Edition_ **

** _3rd Edition Preface_ **

_Q. Atkins; MTmD; DMrL, MTrL_

_Severus Snape is possibly one of the most enigmatic figures in recent wizarding history. He is most well-known now for his participation in the Second Wizarding war, during which he was killed by Lord Voldemort. However, his accomplishments in and contributions to the Wizarding World stretch even further than preventing the deaths of multiple Hogwarts students during the Death Eater Occupation._

_He held one of the most comprehensive battery of wizarding degrees in history, only half of which he cited in the _Second Treatise_. He held two Potions-mastery Degrees, a Transfiguration-mastery Degree, a mastery Degree in Charms, Magic Theory, and two in Defense against the Dark Arts—both Practical and Theoretical. He held seven research licenses simultaneously, only three of which were administered by the Ministry of Magic, the other four being 3rd-party sponsors, including the United Wizarding Nations Lycanthropy Association and MACUSA._

_His research in Potions was primarily practical (See:_ Comprehensive Encyclopaedia to the Efficient Brewing of Potions_), however, his work in theoretical Charms and Transfiguration was unparalleled; the current working Theory of Magic ( European) owes much to his work in expanding on the base provided by Augustus Rathworth in the original _Treatise_. _

_This Handbook is intended for classroom usage only, in an effort to make the points of argument set forth in the _Second Treatise_ more understandable and comprehensive for young minds. This handbook is _not_ approved by England's Ministry of Magic, but represents the work of an independent think-tank comprised of representatives from ten major wizarding nations. As such, all research appears in this book unabridged, but with full warnings and disclaimers on particularly dangerous inquiries into Dark Magic._

_As England’s contribution to this international effort to further our understanding of magic as a science and a way of life, I had the responsibility of researching the original source materiel and author. It is furthermore my privilege to present to you today, a working, comprehensive interpretation of _A Second Treatise on Magic Theory_ by Severus Snape, in full rendering, complete with figures, tables, diagrams and sketches from his original manuscripts, which I believe he intended to accompany the work itself._

_Read on, and keep an open mind._

_—Quincy Atkins_

_..._

_Point 1: Magic is a type of energy, undetectable to Muggles, except for its results, which can be seen by Wizards and Muggles alike._

_..._

_Point 2: The abilities afforded to wizards is a result of a genetically-governed sensitivity to the magical energies inherent to the universe._

_Point 3: Sensitivity to magical energies is a genetic defect; a failure to produce one of a series of proteins necessary to protect the bodily tissues from being affected by magical energies. One of the more significant magic-related genes that is found to be mutated in 89% of the European wizarding community and 70% of the North American wizarding community is closely linked to a gene governing bone density, and the presence of magic has been linked to significantly higher bone density in wizards than in Muggles._

_..._

_Point 25: Lycanthropy is a_ _water-borne virus that affects the thyroid gland in both Muggles and Wizards. The full moon is linked to specific energy frequencies that trigger the virus into activity, which in turn causes the thyroid to produce otherwise foreign hormones. Those hormones effect the monthly transformation, typically called the Changing by werewolves and the Inner Circle members of werewolves’ families._

_..._

_Point 43: The ability to manipulate magic is a quasi-inherited trait, determined partly by genetic inheritance, but more often random mutation. Interbreeding pure-blooded families are more likely to encounter genetic disease in later generations, as well as a significant number of Squibs. The loss of a single one of the seven proteins that govern resistance to magical energies results in a sensitivity. The loss of more than one of the seven core proteins results in an intolerance of magical energy itself, effectively righting the error, and producing a Squib. This effect is visible in situations in which there are more than five generations of interbreeding wizards. (The return of magic susceptibility in the descendants of a Squib is of particular research interest.) _

_..._

_Point 50: Magic is best described as having a dual nature similar to light, a skewed wave with two parts, one that rotates clockwise (Positive), and the other that rotates anticlockwise (Negative)._

_The speed at which the wave of magical energy rotates is directly proportional to the frequency of the oscillations within the wave. Whether the wave rotates clockwise or anticlockwise to the direction of procession is at least partly determined by the relationship frequency and amplitude_

_Point 51: The most basic spell is the _lumos_ spell, without enhancements. It is found at a frequency of one arbitrary unit (which will be referred to as a _Snape_-unit) and an amplitude of one arbitrary unit, (which will be referred to as a _Lumos_) and rotates positively at a rate of one arbitrary unit (which will be referred to as a _Merlin_). All other spells can be described in terms of the lumos spell._

_Point 51 Amendment: The Merlin has been discovered to represent less of a linear unit, and more of a logarithmic scale. Keep this in mind as you continue reading._

_Point 52: Standard magic is governed by “Positive” oscillation of a magical wave, and Dark Magic is governed by “Negative” oscillations. (The difference between Positive and Negative values is recognized in writing as C-Merlins and AC-Merlins, respectively.)_

_Point 52 Amendment: We have now discovered that amplitude is directly linked to the rates of rotation in both Positive and Negative waves, and that higher amplitudes only create Negative waves._

_Point 53: A wand is by no means a necessary component of magic; it simply acts as a focusing agent to aid the wizard, and a means to boost the amplitude of a spell. A powerful wand is characterized by its ability to focus energies easily, and work with (instead of against) its user._

_Point 54: There is an inherent limit on the level of magic possible by a wizard, based on their particular sensitivity to magical energy. This could be the origin of the allegations of the importance of blood purity (See Points 2-8) _

_Point 55: Wand core and wood preferences for certain types of magic indicate a comfortable frequency range or ranges of magic. (For example: Wands specifically intended for duelling typically have a comfortable range of 200 to 700-Snapes, and 500-1000 lumos. This leads to rotational values of 10-20 Merlins) _

_..._

_Point 69: A potion is a substance that contains an amplifying agent specifically calibrated to a certain frequency and amplitude, at certain rotational values._

_Point 70: Wand-governed mixing of a potion is the potion's frequency calibration. (Cross-list: CEEBP p.434:This why a potion must be calibrated in precise measurements, so as not to allow the amplification value to outstrip the potion's frequency at any given time. If the amplification value of a potion must outstrip the frequency calibration, [such as is the case with Animagus potions, Wolfsbane Potion, Felix Felices, Veritaserum and Polyjuice Potion], then such outstripping must occur at the proper moment. Premature or late outstripping can lead to the collapse of the entire potion, which can result in melted cauldrons, or worse.) _

_..._

_Point 75: The difficulty of magic is most often determined by the frequency and amplitude of the energy required to produce it. (For example, an Animagus charm, one of the more complicated forms of magic, is accessed by magic at a general frequency of 258.9-Snapes and a general amplitude of 539-lumos, at 5 C-Merlins and 12 AC-Merlins . The convention for statistic writing is to list the general frequencies of a spell first, both of clockwise and negative waves followed by its general amplitudes, both of clockwise and anticlockwise waves, and the general rates of rotation of those waves, positive Merlins first and negative Merlins second. Therefore, spells are described with seven numbers, as follows: cF: acF: cA: acA: A/AC_

_Point 75 Amendment: It has now been discovered that modulation of frequency, amplitude, and rotational rate of magical energy is necessary for many complex spells. General values are the average of all necessary modulations to a spell._

_Point 76: Charms, spells and potions with similar effects have similar energetic identities_

_..._

_Point 89: The Patronus Charm is the highest-frequency purely positive Charm in the known Wizarding world. A non-corporeal Patronus measures at a general positive frequency of 500-Snapes with an amplitude of 920-lumos. A corporeal Patronus is also summoned at 500-Snapes, but only at positive amplitudes exceeding 1000-lumos. _

_Point 90: Due to the rotational values of waves of magical energy (See Point 50), magical frequencies beyond a corporeal Patronus often rotate too quickly to be considered truly positive. All waves beyond 510-Snapes, thus, are considered _pseudo-negative_, and correspond almost exclusively to powerful Dark Magic._

_Point 91: Less powerful Dark Magic exists, but due to rotational values, no known Dark Magic has a pure anticlockwise frequency of less than 100-Snapes, nor has an amplitude less than 200-lumos._

_Point 95: Standard Magic and Dark Magic often occur in tandem. When this happens, the frequencies of both magic components (or Aspects) are identical, in positive and negative, although the amplitude can vary. (Corpus leviosa (392.2-S) is one such spell, in which the positive Aspect has an amplitude of 300.2-lumos, whereas the lateral Aspect has an amplitude of 280-lumos, and 20/15.5 Merlins. The inverse of this scenario is the energy emitted by a Pensieve, which has a frequency of 257-S, the positive Aspect has an amplitude of 90-lumos, and the lateral Aspect has an amplitude of 389.9-lumos, and 5/13 Merlins) Most conventions of identities only require the annotation of the average frequency and the energy requirement._

_... _

**_3RD EDITION MoM DISCLAIMER_**_: THE FOLLOWING PAGES OF_ Handbook to Severus Snape's Second Treatise on Magic Theory; 3rd Edition_ ARE UNDER **TIGHT REGULATION** and possibly hexes_ _FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. THE MATERIAL ON THE FOLLOWING PAGES SHOULD BE CONSIDERED TO BE **PURELY SPECULATIVE** AND ACADEMIC, AND SHOULD UNDER **NO CIRCUMSTANCES WHATSOEVER** BE USED IN-PRACTICE._

_PROCEEDING TO VIEW THE FOLLOWING PAGES OF _Handbook to Severus Snape's Second Treatise on Magic Theory; 3rd Edition _OUTSIDE OF THE PRESENCE OF A LISENCED RESEARCHER OF DARK MAGIC CAN RESULT IN **INCRIMINATION AND/OR IMPRISONMENT IN AZKABAN**._

_YOU HAVE BEEN **WARNED**._

_The remaining points, 120-135, are taken directly from _Second Treatise on Magic Theory_, with minimal edits and/or annotation. This is due to the complexity of the spells, and the care and precision that must be taken on the topic of Horcruxes, as the Magic itself is particularly dangerous and uncontrollable and should not, under any circumstances, be practiced by anyone, under punishment of the Laws of Wizard, Man, Nature and God._

_—Q. Atkins_

_“The requirements of magical frequency and amplitude necessary to create a Horcrux ranges from 900 Snapes to 1500 Snapes in pure negative energy, and amplitude requirements of well over 5000-lumos (bear in mind, like Merlins, the lumos is a _logarithmic_ scale. Horcrux creation is incredibly energetic, and therefore unstable, due to intense and often extremely uncontrollable rotational values that range into the high hundreds).”_

_..._

_“The _Avada Kedavra_ spell (724S; 1118-l) is capable of creating more energy than is invested in the spell itself. The violent separation of soul from body (resulting in death, excluding the Dementor's Kiss), emits negative waves in 3 dimensions of up to 2000S, and amplitudes exceeding 10,000 lumos. This sheer amount of energy is capable of instantaneously shearing the caster's soul into two, and possibly severely damaging the souls of onlookers. This energy is what is used to power the creation of a Horcrux, by directing the flow of energy from the _Avada Kedavra_ spell, directing it to precisely (even surgically) cut the soul of the caster, and enchant the part of the caster's soul into the intended object. _

_“It is to be noted, that this particular brand of magic should not be considered reliable, as the energy involved is extremely difficult to harness and use safely._

_“ The _Avada Kedavra_ spell, while the only source of energy intense enough to power the creation of Horcruxes, should _not _under any circumstances be considered a means for the completion of complex spells. Not only does the caster endanger both himself and anyone else who happens to be present with him when he casts the spell, but he is guilty of murder, an entirely _unnatural_ state of affairs with distinct detrimental consequences...”_

_..._

“Well?” Severus Snape sat in the chair opposite Professor McGonagall, his fingers steepled as he observed her. 'Thoughts?”

“Oh, Severus, I don't know.” she put the papers down. “I do find it quite interesting... The paper is quite well written, and clearly sufficiently researched. But it is quite dark material... You're certain that the Ministry?... actually, never mind...” She gave a solemn nod. “I suppose that what you've written is... well... with the times.”

Severus looked tiredly at her, his features accentuated in the candlelight.

“I've caught up on the other instalments as well... for having been written over almost twenty years, it does have incredible flow and coherence... I think it would be an excellent addition to your repertoire... Do you plan on using it to finalize your Capstone Project?... I thought that your arguments regarding the energy frequencies of magic were the final part.... clearly you had other ideas, including the Patronus Charm and Horcruxes.”

“... I was thinking... more along the lines of.... a textbook,” Severus said, opting to stand. He began to pace back and forth behind his desk. “The Dark Arts garner such... fascination among young wizards because of the air of mystery that... surrounds the topic. If we taught students what Dark Magic _is_, not how to perform it, but what it _is_, in a _controlled_ environment, do you think that so many of them would develop such a.... _fascination_ with it? Of _course_ not, because they already know what they need to know. And they would know how to better combat it.”

“If I didn't know better, Severus, I would have thought that you were someone from Durmstrang who gained access to an _unreasonable_ supply of Polyjuice Potion. Or have you forgotten Grindelwald?”

“Of course not. You remember the pages on the nature of the supposed Deathly Hallows?”

“Ah, of course....”

Severus casually rolled his eyes. “Does the paper meet your approval, for me to send it into syndication?”

Minerva set the booklet on the desk, and steepled her own fingers, leaning back on her chair. “Quite personally, Severus, I believe this last battery of research would best be kept to yourself if you can...”

“...”

“I understand that the Searcher mind in you would... wish to propagate knowledge...But, especially in this time.... perhaps now is not the proper time for you, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, with your history, to be advocating the teaching of the nature of the Dark Arts.”

“Because I'm an.... unquantifiable tangent.” His pacing drew him to a bookcase so that his back was to her. “As usual.”

“Severus, the last thing I want to do is discourage you.”

“Minerva, _nothing_... you could _possibly_ say to me would be capable of that.”

“Comforting to see you're still the same _you_.”

“That was not the intent.”

“Your candour is appreciated, Severus.”

A long pause while Severus Snape looked absently at a bookcase, and Minerva McGonagall watched and thought, debating courses of action.

“You realize... I don't _have_ to ask your permission to publish under Hogwarts' name anymore. I _am_ Headmaster of this School.”

“Yes, with the arrival of the Carrows, that is quite evident, Severus. Although considering the incident with Corner, I would say you're not Headmaster of much of anything.”

“...”

“...”

The speed at which he moved stunned her. Altogether and at once he had turned, his cloak flying behind him, and had nearly rushed to his desk. He planted his hands firmly on the wood and towered menacingly over her for a moment... before he practically collapsed. It looked as if he were melting out like candle wax over the desk, half-collapsing onto his chair, one of his arms draped across the work surface and the other arm held up at the elbow as his forehead touched the edge of the desk.

He rested there a moment.

Minerva slowly stood, her own robes following her shoulders gracefully. She walked around to him, her boots tapping on the old stone floor. She stood next to him for a moment before reaching her hand out, to place it gently on his shoulder. She felt him tense momentarily, before he returned to his show of exhaustion.

“I _tried_. Minerva, I _tried_. There wasn't enough time; Corner might as well have been caught before he even laid eyes on the dungeon. I tried so very hard. And Atkins...”

Minerva continued to rub his shoulders, trying to work out some of the tenseness that had overtaken them.

“Minerva... I'm never going to stop hearing the _screaming_...the _begging_ as they _crucio_ed the living daylights out of the both of them, right in front of me.” He shook his head, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “It was _me_ that I heard; the exact same. Begging, pleading with my father to stop. Grovelling for mercy where there was none to be found. I haven't slept since...”

“You may not like children, Severus,” Minerva said with a gentle chuckle. “But no one can say that you don't have thoughts for hurt children. No one.”

A silence overtook the room.

“I've always thought so.... so very highly of you, Minerva...” He remained motionless, and his next words were barely a whisper. “I don't know what to do. What do I do?”

Minerva's eyes were gentle, and she said in a voice equally quiet, “Severus... you were always a boy to me, lost in the world, however—”

“—Don't, please,” Severus closed his eyes.

“... I am not your mother, and I cannot tell you what you should do... You've got to decide that for yourself.”

Severus let out an exasperated sigh.

Minerva gazed solemnly at him, though she continued to stroke his shoulders. “Severus, a wise wizard once said to me: 'Even when you’re not sure where to go... You’ve got to accept the past... Look at the present, make your decision, and live for the future.'“

Severus gave her a glare for the ages. “You kept that one, from when I graduated, just to _smash _it over my head at your leisure, didn't you?”

“No... But it _is_ applicable...”

“_God_; why do I put up with you,” he growled, only half-serious.

“I could say likewise.”

A beat.

“Why is it that all the...” he trailed off with a sigh. “Tobias, Lucius, Dumbledore. Riddle.” He looked at her, his face saying it all. _Why can't I have _nice_ things?_

“At least you were better than that to Harry?”

“Barely. He's fantasized _crucio_ing me on more than one occasion. I found _that_ one out during our Occlumency lessons... I tried to protect him, raise him, and I _failed_. As _always_, dammit, and now Voldemort's going to _kill_ him.” He scowled. “I would rather not have known Lily's son at all than...” he trailed off, exasperated, knowing full well that his tongue had slipped.

“Than?”

“Than grow to _love_ the boy, only to lose him. I can't lose him.... I _promised_ her. I _promised._”

“...”

“_Dammit, _Minerva, he may have been _James's _son by _blood,_ but he's just as much_ mine,_” he snarled as he stood up suddenly, almost knocking McGonagall off-balance before he swiped the pages of paper off of his desk and towered over her. “_Why do you think the wards on the cottage are so strong; I don't want the boy to die!_”

“I don't doubt you.”

There was a pregnant pause, Severus glaring murderously down at Minerva, before he deflated back down into the chair and stared absently into the distance.

They were silent like that for a long time. Finally, Minerva moved... or rather, she _shifted_.

_That_ got his attention, and he glared at the Cat Animagus as she jumped onto his lap. He rolled his eyes. “Do I really look _that_ pathetic?”

The tabby just gazed at him with wise, bespectacled eyes and curled up on his lap, looking up at him with a rather pouty expression (even for a cat), her paws beneath her chin.

He sighed in resignation. Well. He wasn't about to spill his best friend off his lap and onto the floor...


	21. A Griffon and a Snake

_“Oh... hello Harry.”_

_“Afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy. I... I didn't see Draco at school today... is he not feeling well?”_

_“I'm afraid Draco has a bit of a cold.”_

_“Is he alright? Could I see him? I brought some things that he might like.”_

_“I suppose... But he does need his rest.”_

_“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy!...”_

_..._

_“... Harry? What are you doing here?”_

_“Come to see you, you nutter. You think I'd go through Maths with Ms. Garrick and not think about how you were here, skiving off?”_

_“I'm not home for no reason, Harry; I feel awful. And I'll have make-up work to do.”_

_“And Crabbe and Goyle were following me around asking for you.”_

_“....God, no. Those two could barely write their names if they tried... What's in the bag?”_

_“Colouring books, Chocolate frogs, and a few ice lollies, in case it was a sore throat.”_

_“Aren't they melted?”_

_“You'd be surprised—look. My uncle taught me a new charm. Here, have one.”_

_“Wow; thanks.... Snape's not your _real_ uncle, you know that, right?”_

_“Of course I know that.... but he's the closest I have to family, see. The other stuff; it doesn't matter.”_

_“Fair enough. Honestly I can't imagine _what_ it'd be like not to have _my_ parents around... mmn...”_

_“What's wrong? Brain freeze?”_

_“No, no... my ear's just been hurting a bit.”_

_“Is it alright?”_

_“Well, I’m not going to the _doctor_ over an earache, if _that’s _what you're asking.”_

_“I didn’t say you needed to. I was just wondering.”_

_“Well, it’s fine, ok? Now, is that colouring book magical or not? Pictures that move are so hard to colour, and they’re always trying to give you advice on which pencil to use.”_

...

_“Ah. Harry. How was school today?”_

_“It was fine, Uncle Sev. Ms. Garrick gives too much Maths homework... Don’t laugh; it’s a lot!”_

_“I’m certain it is, little wizard. Do you need any help?”_

_“Sure..... I can’t imagine what it's going to be like for poor Draco, with all that make-up work. He wasn't at school all this week.... Could you ask, next time you see Mr. Malfoy? Make sure Draco’s alright?”_

...

_“Remember, Harry, Draco had an ear infection. He isn’t likely to appreciate loud sounds, and roughhousing with him would not be... prudent.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“I’ll see you when I’m finished, then.”_

...

_“Ha-ha! With these new additions to the Deathstick, I’ll be able to control all the wands in the world, and no one can stop me, no wizard, no Muggle!”_

_“Not so fast, Potter; my friends and I’ll stop you! Cruciatus Curse!”_

_“Protego! Expelli— Wait, Draco... What’s a Cruciatus?”_

_“I.... I’m not really sure. My father says he used it a lot during the Great Wizard War, but he won’t teach me how to do it until I’m older.”_

_“Funny, my uncle's never said anything about a Cruciatus.... Well, anyways.... Expelliarmus!”_

_“Oh, no! Potter's disarmed me!”_

_“You'll never defeat me, Malfoy.”_

_“Oh, yes I will, Potter, because good will always triumph! Bad guys never win! My wand is faithful, its Unicorn Tail Hair core answers only to me! So Accio, wand! Petrificus totalus!... it’s a ten second delay, right?....”_

_“Um... yeah.... Ah, curses! You've frozen me!... But you forget, I have dementors at my aid! You have to cast a patronus to stop them before the Petrificus spell wears off!”_

_“My patronus is a dragon; and it’ll whip your dementors into next week! Ha!.... Ha! Your dementors are running away now!”_

_“But I’m up again, and I have the Deathstick.”_

_“I can still tackle you! Ha-ha, gotcha!”_

_“Whoa!....Stop, stop—Draco, Severus told me that I shouldn’t be wrestling with you, you getting over that ear infection and all.”_

_“Ugh, you and your _rules_, Potter. Look, my ear’s fine, OK? I already have my mum keeping me away from football and my broom. And besides, it’s my left side. It’ll be fine.”_

_...._

_“And you’ll be in Azkaban forever, where you can enjoy your dementor friends.”_

_“I’ll escape again, someday, Malfoy, and I’ll be back to rule the world!..... Ah, good game.”_

_“Yeah, it was..... Like I say, the good guys _always_ win.”_

_“Draco; mate, your ear is bleeding!...”_

_“It is?.... Aw, bugger, it is. Mum’s gonna kill me.”_

_“What? You said it’d be alright.”_

_“Well, yeah, but... I mean, my ear bleeds all the time now... But if my ear is bleeding _and_ she knows I’ve been wrestling you in the dirt patch?... Well, then I’m _buggered_.... come on. I gotta get back to my room without the elves seeing me.”_

_“You have elves?...”_

...

_“You didn’t sit next to me on the train.”_

_“I just wanted to sit next to Ron. It’s.... is it _that_ big of a deal?__”_

_“Well, I mean, I thought we were best mates.”_

_“We _ are_ best mates. I just... Crabbe and Goyle had already gotten to you. I didn't feel welcome.”_

_“Ron’s a _Weasley_ though. My father says that they’re no good, the whole lot of them.”_

_“Your father doesn’t know Ron. Ron’s a great friend. And the Weasleys invited us to Christmas. They’re nice. I mean, even your family never invited us to Christmas.”_

_“Because we don’t _celebrate_ Christmas, you _git_.”_

_“And _that’s_ a crying shame.__”_

_“You’re telling me you didn’t sit next to your best friend, on your first train to Hogwarts, because he doesn’t celebrate _Christmas_?__”_

_“Well, no, I’m just saying that your other friends scare me witless.”_

_“And _now_ you’re in a different House entirely.”_

_“Don't look at me with that kicked puppy face. Besides, being in different Houses doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, Draco.”_

_“Doesn’t it though? I _thought_ you’d want to be in Slytherin, like me.__”_

_“I dunno. I guess the Hat had other plans.”_

_“I guess.”_

_“But.... we.... we’re good, right, Draco?”_

_“Hmph.”_

_“Draco?... I didn’t mean to hurt you, alright?... Draco? Your ear’s bleeding again.”_

_“Never you mind _my goddamn ear_!”_

_“Draco? Draco! Where are you going?”_

_“Just leave me alone, Potter!”_

...

_“No wonder the mud-blooded girl bettered you in Charms. Your wandwork is dreadful. Half the mudbloods in Hogwarts could better you.”_

_“Hermione gets Os in everything. She’s... she’s not... not stupid....”_

_“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizarding family beat you in every exam_. _And that girl is to _you_...What I _say_ she is to you...”_

_“No!...”_

_“Do you understand?”_

_“Please, Father... please don't hit my bad ear again! Please don’t, I’ll do better, I promise!”_

_“The exercise. Now.”_

_“Y-yes, Father.”_

....

_“You needed to put the whiskers in _last_, that’s what the instructions said. Then the wandwork is Up, Left, Right, Left, and Down... You try... GOYLE YOU OAF, DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME AGAIN! Look at what you've done!”_

_“... Draco? How... how long have you had that now?... It had to be... five years ago. It’s still?—”_

_“Bugger off, Potter, leave me alone! Come on, Goyle. Apparently, Slytherin table isn’t _private_ enough to have a _conversation_.__”_

....

_“Young master Malfoy.”_

_“Oh... Professor Snape. Good afternoon?...”_

_“Come with me, please.”_

_“Er... yes, sir...”_

_“Sit. This is your fifth year of Hogwarts, is it not, Malfoy?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“I see... It has come to my attention that there may be something affecting your grade performance.”_

_“Sir?.... That can’t be. I’ve gotten Os and Es in Potions for four years now.”_

_“I wish to contact your parents, regarding an ailment more... physical in nature.”_

_“Potter told you about my ear, didn't he? Worthless little sod can't be trusted—”_

_“Draco, _everyone_ heard your little row with Goyle today. Including myself, incidentally.”_

_“It wasn’t right for him to tell.”_

_“...”_

_“You.... you aren’t going to tell my father, are you?”_

_“Are you going to see Madame Pomfrey?”_

_“Would it be alright if.... if you... found some way to help me? Madame Pomfrey would tell.... No one is supposed to know.”_

_“...”_

_“Please, sir. I... my father wouldn’t approve if he knew that.... well...”_

...

“Afternoon, Lucius.”

“Severus; I wasn’t expecting you... Please.... Please, come in... What... What is this all about?”

“Draco.”

“Ah. What’s happened this time?”

“He has... difficulty hearing lectures. He produces fine potions, however, he informs that he finds that during classes he must always sit with the professor to his right in order to hear instructions properly.”

“His ear, then?”

“I presume... that you know of the problem already?”

“Unfortunately, the infection never healed properly. Not uncommon, as you know, for such magical ailments.”

“I suppose that it would not. Especially... if it were... exposed to damaging trauma on a regular basis.... Lucius, perhaps you should sit down. You look pale.... Well... Pal_er_”

“I haven’t the... the slightest as to what you’re talking about, Potions Master.”

“I have repaired his ear to the best of my ability, however.... should I discover at _any_ time that my work has been undone... The consequences, I assure, will be.... most dire.”

“Are you _threatening_ me?”

“Are _you_ threatening your _son_?”

“I only wish for him to apply himself more to his studies— we both know that Hogwarts produces among the lowest standards of wizarding education, and I _resent_ your implications.”

“That may be, but I resent the means you have chosen to incentivise him.”


	22. Fifth Year

So very many things happened in Harry's Fifth Year of school, it was often hard to keep track...

Firstly, there was the matter of a rather _inconvenient_ Patronus.

Severus had only discovered that Harry had been attacked, a rather long time after Harry had actually been attacked. Apparently, the boy had been out walking, amongst Muggles, no less, and a dementor had shown up at a rather inconvenient time, and instead of allowing himself to get his soul sucked out (which is _apparently_ what the Ministry of Magic would have rather had him do) he cast a Patronus. And a very large one at that.

Harry honestly wasn't in a very crowded place, so it wasn't as if really anyone saw him, and he didn't upset the ISWS.... but he was still an underage wizard performing magic.

This, of course, led to Severus receiving a letter in the mail later that afternoon after Harry had returned home, and having a rather long talk about precisely what to do for Wizengamot (Which is, of course, one of the most inhumane practice of all practices known to witches and wizards) Severus promptly owled Dumbledore. The swift reply said that a group of Order members would pick Harry up that night.

It was all, of course, done very secretly as if it were some sort of big operation.... Order members always were showier than they needed to be. Of course the same could be said for most wizards, so no surprise there...

....

Secondly, Severus moved from the cottage, back to Spinner's End. The moment Harry left the house, Severus began to pack up his things into a magical trunk. He packed _most_ of his things into the trunk.... the remainder (a box filled with notes, a Pensieve, most of his potions supplies and the special willow wand from the very tree under which he'd met Lily Evans) he stowed away in a locked closet, hidden in the back of the potions laboratory...

It felt strange to think that he was going to move out of his house of nearly twenty years, back to his childhood home... back to Spinner's End. In a way, it felt outright _wrong_. He'd sworn that he'd never live there again, and now he found himself putting all of his things into a series of magical trunks, and closing the door to the cottage behind him.

He didn't know it then, but that would be one of the last times he saw the place he really called home. The last time he would return to the cottage would be only to make out his will in the summer after he'd slain Dumbledore. It was the summer that he began to get a feeling that his fate was sealed in stone, and he didn't want to take chances of his work falling into the wrong hands.

Severus resided at Spinner's End for the remaining two years that Voldemort was alive, just so that Voldemort couldn't get at Harry.

It hurt Severus to be away from the cottage. Almost half his life had been spent at that cottage, because it was his place of refuge from the terrors of life.

Fine, it hurt him to be away from the boy as well. Suddenly Severus was completely cut out of the loop of information. He had become so accustomed to always _knowing_, at least in some way, what Harry was up to, and how to solve any problems that arose. Now, however, it was safer for Harry if Severus _wasn't_ nearby. Harry's safety was priority, of course, but that didn't mean that it couldn't still hurt like a dull knife twisting in his gut to see Dumbledore mentoring his son (_GODDAMMIT_), and not himself.

Arthur Weasley and even Remus Lupin continually reassured Severus that Harry was doing fine. The boy was just going through a teenager phase, and there was nothing to be done about it. It was also clear, however, that Harry was lashing out at his friends, labelling himself a persecuted little angel.... and Severus couldn't help but want to legilimens some _sense_ into the boy.

It was an interesting thing, to help Harry during their late-night Occlumency sessions. Harry always seemed to have something else on his mind, always seemed to be preoccupied. Severus had a sense that Harry didn't know the depth of the situation. Of course, Harry often thought about and/or complained about the most random of things _anyways_, so it was no surprise to Severus that Occlumency practise fared _poorly_.

But then...Then there was Dolores Umbridge, who was in Severus's mind a _witch_, and not in the _good_ sense of the word.

She questioned his authority; not just questioning it, but questioning it _in front of his students_. Not only infuriating—it was _embarrassing_. Snape was half-tempted to hex her on the spot, but she remained blissfully unaware of his even-more-rigid posture, which Harry knew all-too-well was characteristic of him reminding himself not to reach for his wand. Ronald Weasley found the entire affair particularly amusing, and Severus had stayed his wrath against Umbridge by giving the Weasley boy a solid Reminder to the back of the head.

Most of that school year was spent trying to figure out if Harry really was in mortal danger or not.

He found out, during Potions class, when he'd given a passing glance at Harry, and saw _it_ on his hand.

_I must not tell lies_.

It was written there, _into his hand_. Severus remembered feeling a red haze of pure and unfiltered rage boiling up within him, and he _knew_. He _knew _it was that evil little toad that had done this... How _dare_ she. How_ dare_ that _woman_ do such _blasphemy_ against Lily Evans's son? How dare she do this to _his_ son—his charge?

It was he who informed Minerva McGonagall, completely in confidence, what was happening to Harry. He didn't bother informing Dumbledore. What Dumbledore chose to be ignorant of couldn't hurt him... Probably.

Then Umbridge began to interrogate the students, and Severus made it a point not to give Umbridge the full potion, except when he knew for a fact that the student Umbridge wished to interrogate would know absolutely nothing about what Harry was getting on with. Dumbledore's Army _indeed_.

Then... then things became complicated. Harry and his friends were caught, and Snape was on the spot. For all of Umbridge's blunderings, she'd gotten them... And Severus came to the door, just in time to see Umbridge strike Harry—a slap against the boy's cheek.

He remained silent—it was indeed his gift to remain silent— but he wished to _crucio_ this woman, this woman who had defiled and shamed his son in such ways, with a strike to the face and that _despicable_ quill. Severus wanted to slay her in a heat of vengeance. But then, that would reflect poorly. So perhaps another day. Still, he couldn't help the murderous expression that flitted across his gaze. He was quite certain that the Granger girl saw it.

“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?”

“Ah, Professor Snape.” And there was that overly saccharine smile, that tooth-rotting affair that everyone could see through and yet no one could ever do anything about.

_You can't do anything about it_.

_“Sectumsempra!”_

“Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quickly as you can, please.”

_“You can't hurt anyone anymore... Oh, no, that won't work. I cut your carotid artery. Every beat of your heart kills you a little bit more... Look how _red_ your blood is as it stains your collar. I'd forgotten. It's always you making _me_ bleed, isn't it? Never the other way around. Until now, I suppose.”_

“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,” Snape finally said. “Surely you did not use all of it, already,” he said in a voice that was just a greasy hair shy of a blatant taunt. “I told you that three drops would be more than sufficient.”

“You _can_ make more, can't you?” And once more, that saccharine tone was there again. It was just like Petunia and he hated every word.

“Certainly,” he replied in a matter-of-fact smugness that could have rivalled a Malfoy. “It takes a full moon cycle to mature sufficiently, so I should have it ready for you in about a month;”

“A month?... A _month_?! But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!”

“Really?... Well it doesn't surprise _me_. Potter never has shown much inclination to follow school rules...” He looked at Harry, searching the boy's face for answers, for _real_ answers, but for once the boy was locked up tight. That figured just about right.

Umbridge's screeching voice brought him unwillingly back to the land of the aware. “I wish to interrogate him! I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!”

Severus kept himself away from a wry, knowing smile, and simply replied, “I have already told you that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter—and I assure you I would have the _utmost_ sympathy if you did— I cannot help you.” His voice turned thoughtful, and only just barely shy of mocking. “The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling...”

“_You are on probation_! You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better; Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you!”

Well fat chance that Severus gave a solitary damn about what Lucius said, and hadn't he already established that years ago?...

“Now get out of my office!”

Snape bit back a smile as he bowed to her, and turned to walk out the door.

“He's got Padfoot! He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!”

Then Umbridge went on an array of tangents while Severus's mind raced about the fact that, to his knowledge, Sirius was perfectly safe and _what was this connection to the Dark Lord doing to Harry_.

“What does he mean, Snape?”

He had to conjure up his best soul-crushing reply to his son that he'd ever given. Every harsh word Harry had spoken against him, every plot, or misdeed, taken to the utmost extreme and unleashed back upon the unsuspecting youth at his most vulnerable time.

“No idea.”

Harry's face of absolute hopelessness and despair made Severus feel as though he'd just ended the world. Well. The boy would thank him later.

“Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me, I shall feed you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little. If Longbottom suffocates it will mean _mountains_ of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if you ever apply for a job.”

Without another word, he left the room... and immediately went for Hogwarts' magical boundaries, and upon passing them, he promptly disapparated and headed straight for 12 Grimmauld Place.

He had to double-check that Sirius hadn't gone off and done something stupid. He oughtn't have worried. Upon bursting through the door, setting off Mrs. Black, and racing into the kitchen... he found Sirius, perhaps a bit buzzed by the look of the half-empty tumbler in his hand, but safe and sound nonetheless. The man gave him a quizzically judgmental look from his seat at the table.

“Snivellus,” he half-slurred. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Snape's face curled into a sneer. “I’m looking after your _godson_, because you can't be _troubled to_.”

Sirius was up, his wand now out of his pocket, and the painting of Mrs. Black resumed another round of screaming. “You take. That. Back.”

“_Make_ me,” Severus taunted, sticking his jaw forward. “You didn't care enough about Harry to take care of him for the past _fourteen years_.”

“I was in _prison!_”

“So?”

“Whoa, WHOA,” came another voice, most obviously roused from a nap by the yelling and screaming. “What is going on here _gentlemen_?”

“Bugger off with all that.... _gentlemen_ business, Remus,” Snape huffed.

Remus shook his head, and waved his hands in a 'slow down' gesture. “Alright. Sirius.” He pointed at the wizard. “Put down the wand, you’re drunk.” He pointed at the other man. “Severus. Check. Why are you here and not at Hogwarts.”

“That's what I was _trying_ to say; the Dark Lord's hold on him has strengthened; he believes that you're captured by the Ministry, Sirius, and that you need to be rescued.” Severus shot a glance at Remus. he continued. “We _all_ know that the only thing _really_ there is the... the Prophecy.” Just the mere mention of it sent pangs of regret spearing through him...but there was no time for that now.

“If I know Harry, and I believe we _all_ know him well enough by now... He's going to go to the Department of Mysteries to save you himself, where the Dark Lord lies in wait for him.”

Sirius' eyes were wide, and he nodded. “I'll inform everyone,” he said, leaving for the fireplace.

Severus looked on as Sirius practically ran for the fireplace.... Maybe he really did care about Harry. Then Severus felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, Sev. We'll take care of the rest. You should get back to Hogwarts before they miss you.”

Severus took a worried breath and nodded slightly at Remus. The two wizards shared a long look before Severus turned with a flurry of his cloak and quickly departed the house in long strides.


	23. The Broken Lives We Live

You drink toasts to remember the good things.

You drink shots to forget all the bad things

A eulogy only remembers the good things.

An empty casket only remembers bad things.

There weren't many good times.

He hated you.

You hated him.

It wasn't as if the detest between you wasn't completely, fully mutual,

Because it was.

Or maybe that's what you convinced yourself of on sleepless nights as you nursed a black eye.

Maybe it devolved over time.

Maybe it was rivalry now,

Not animosity.

Now that you were both equals;

You're as strong as he was then.

Ruthless banter, empty threats that no one ever had the mind or energy to follow through on.

Wands raised, only for the ever-faithful Remus Lupin to intervene before things got too close.

Your mediator.

Blessed Common ground.

... But Harry was _also_ common ground.

And you both fought like kneazles over him.

There was a funeral you weren't invited to. Of course there was.

You came anyways, because it just felt like the right thing to do.

You stood in the back, because it also felt like the right thing to do.

The boy was there. He gave you a glare so full of hatred, it broke you.

Would there be anything left after your world shattered before your eyes?

You returned home, painfully alone, with only Wormtail to greet you.

You should have hexed him on the spot. By god, the man _deserved_ it.

You mercifully stayed your wand.

He bowed before you; worshipped you.

Had it been any other man, you would have told him to stand up.

But it was _him_. The godless bastard who betrayed Lily Evans.

So you made his life a living hell, to the best of your ability.

He had spent fourteen years living like a rat. What were a few more added?

You'd never owned a House Elf.

He made a good substitute.


	24. The Mistakes We Hide

_It was that damned book. It caused problems for him while he was in school, out of school, and even nearly twenty years after he finished school. It was his NEWTs textbook in potions... he had notes scribbled everywhere in it, and duplicated in other notebooks, of course, but that textbook was the forefront of his early innovation. It represented the height of his work during his lowest years. It held his most brilliant discoveries in potions that he would never parallel in his adult years, his discoveries that Charms masters would be envious of… and the one. It held the one spell that got him into so much trouble during his early years, when he used it to relieve his anger._

_Sectumsempra—For enemies_

_And then it fell into the chaotic teen hands of Harry Potter. Joy of joys._

_…_

_The Half-Blood Prince wasn’t kidding when he said ‘for enemies’._

_Harry looked down at his own wand, then at Draco, who lay stunned and bleeding from what had to be great gaping wounds in his chest. He hadn’t expected that. He’d expected something more like Levicorpus spell, or muffliato, or any of the other innocuous spells in the small prankster’s arsenal that was his beaten-up copy of Advanced Potion-Making._

_It occurred to Harry in a moment of sheer terror… Draco had aimed a Killing Curse at him… And Harry might just have returned it to sender. He wasn’t a killer. He’d meant to stun Draco, not murder him. Draco was bleeding out and Harry had no idea how to undo his own handiwork… _

_Then a dark shape swept past him, and he made eye contact with a furious Severus Snape before he ran from the room… though he heard a spell that sounded nearly like a song._

_…_

_The fact that it hurt was the first thing Draco realized. A spell he’d never heard of before, and suddenly it felt like someone ripped him apart… _

_He stumbled and slumped over, watching as crimson blossomed on his shirt and into the water around him. He gasped for air, discovering that breathing was nearly impossible. He let out a pitiful moan— god, he was going to die here, in the boy’s bathroom, at the hand of Harry Potter. What a sorry way to go._

_A dark shape settled over him, and he, for a moment, wondered if it were the dark spectre of death. He groaned again, his voice sounding like it was at the end of a long tunnel… But there was something else at the end of that tunnel. There was another spell being spoken that he’d never heard, that cooled the fires that burned in his torso. He felt the wounds begin to close up, and his strength slightly return to him. _

_Draco gave a slight sigh as the pain abated. He felt strong arms lift him up bridal-style, and heard a deep baritone say something about dittany and scarring . He could scarcely understand it for exhaustion and shock._

_…_

_“Madame Pomfrey, we have an emergency,” Snape called as he carried Draco into the infirmary._

_“Ah, put him here.”She directed Snape to a cot, whereupon she immediately set to unbuttoning Draco’s shirt as soon as Snape had set him down. _

_“How did…” Her face took on a dark recognition as she saw the half-healed wounds in Draco’s chest and stomach._

_“Potter. Has my old book.”_

_“So, Sectumsempra is back, is it?”_

_Snape looked away, at an herb cabinet. _I was rather hoping you had a dittany poultice and not an editorial on my mistakes…


	25. Dark Marks on Arms and Souls

The Dark Mark on every Death Eater's wrist is less like a stamp, and more like a brand. That is, the process itself is much more akin to a branding, as Draco Malfoy learned, a _depressingly_ short amount of time after Voldemort's return.

Every Mark is slightly different, because, as every Death Eater is specially chosen by Voldemort himself, every branding is also done personally by the Dark Lord. The design is drawn on, and then the spell activated.... And that's what sent Draco reeling to the floor in pain and a panic, the activation.

To be fair to the boy, the experience was _not _pleasant. In fact, it was the opposite of. All the same, it was worth it to feel like you belonged to something important... At least, that's how Severus remembered it being as he watched as Narcissa wept on his shoulder, the other Death Eaters laughed and drank, and Draco howled in pain.

Finally the boy stilled and Voldemort called him to rise as a servant to the Dark Lord. Draco did so, and immediately Voldemort called for a celebration which the other Death Eaters promptly obeyed. The planning of Dumbledore's assassination would have to wait. Voldemort then released Draco's arm, and gathered Narcissa to himself so that she would join in the festivities... Which, of course, constituted getting blind, blackout drunk. Narcissa sent one fleeting look back at Severus as Voldemort ushered her away from the main atrium into the dining hall.

Draco swayed on his feet, and Severus rushed forward to catch the boy.

“Leave me alone,” Draco moaned weakly as Severus lowered him to the floor.

Severus gently tipped Draco's head back to look in the boy's eyes; they were dilated and seemed glazed and distant, but Severus checked the boy's pulse just to make sure. It was rapid, almost nonexistent.

“My father, they have my father, he's going to kill me—”

“No one's going to kill anyone today if I can help it, now shut up and try to breathe normally; you're going into shock.... Must be the burn,” he said offhandedly as Draco continued to weep. “Think of something that makes you happy, Draco, try to relax.”

Severus shed his cloak and rolled it up into a bundle, setting it on the floor to help elevate the boy's legs and keep his blood in his torso.

“Like... when my father comes home from Azkaban and we can be a family again?”

Severus paused for a moment, but then nodded. “Yes, Draco. Anything that would make you happy.... this is going to hurt, and it will keep hurting for awhile now, I am afraid.” With that, Severus flicked his wand, and the burn sealed itself into the skin and began to fade into his pale skin.

“I want to go to America someday,” Draco said, his voice still audibly shaking. “Maybe to Arizona; I dislike the cold so much, and it's always so damn cold in this drafty old house. I want to see if they have any potions ingredients we don't know about.”

With another flick of his wand, Severus activated a spell that would help blood vessels retain their tone and help the heart right its rhythm... It would keep the boy alive until this passed, and his body righted itself.

“I want my father to accept me for who I am, and who I think I'd like to marry,” Draco said, his voice a little stronger.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he monitored the spell and Draco's reaction to it. “And who would that be?”

“Hermione Granger.”

Severus just blinked. It's all that he could do in good conscience. He wanted to let out a great guffaw of amusement. He'd thought that Draco might have had an unconventional choice, but good _god_. If Lucius knew, he was probably going into conniptions.

And here he thought _he_ was the bold one for standing up to Lucius; he didn't have anything on Draco. He declined the raucous laughter, but allowed a throaty chuckle out at the thought.

“Don't _laugh_, professor,” Draco said, clearly meaning it.

Severus shook his head slightly. “You don't need to have your father's permission in order to follow what you feel you need to do, Draco. And you're always a family, whether your father is here with you in the flesh or not.”

Draco's face fell. “Harry was the luckiest sod in the world,” he said sullenly, the waver now almost entirely absent from his voice.

Severus slipped his cloak from beneath Draco's ankles, put it back on, and helped Draco to his feet.

“Harry had you—someone wise. I wish my father was like that.”

Severus shook his head. “Don't wish for a different father, Draco. Things might have turned out very differently.”

“I don’t see how.”

...

_“Where's your mother, boy,” Tobias slurred. He had a bottle in his hand. Figured._

_You can't do anything about it_.

_“She's somewhere you can't hurt her anymore..... She—She's dead, _Father_.”_

_“I wasn't done with her, boy. I guess you'll do.”_

_“No.”_

_“What did you say, you ungrateful little son of a b—”_

_“SECTUMSEMPRA,” Severus had roared, with his wand out in the same flash of white as he slashed it through the air._

_Tobias crashed to his knees, blood blossoming from a wound in his neck._

_Severus stood over him as he began to gasp and splutter. “You can't hurt anyone anymore.”_

_Tobias fell against the couch, drawing his hand to his neck to try to stop the bleeding. “Oh, no, that won't work. I cut your carotid artery. Every beat of your heart kills you a little bit more... Look how _red_ your blood is as it stains your collar.” he said softly as Tobias flopped over onto the floor, blood still flowing freely. “I'd forgotten. It's always _you_ making _me_ bleed, isn't it? Never the other way around. Until now, I suppose.”_

...

He'd seen a dead body before, now was no different, was it? He supposed it was. Cedric's body had been pristine, the Killing Curse having ripped Cedric's soul clean from his body, no questions asked and no mess afterward. This was different though. This was Greyback's work, clearly. A student, he was probably third year or maybe younger by the looks of him. Green, bloodstained robes; he must have gotten in the way. It wasn't too dark to see who it was... but there was so much blood that it was impossible to tell. He... he admittedly had thought that they would be in and out. Dumbledore was the target, no one else was... no one else was supposed to get hurt.

Draco staggered away from the dead Slytherin, suddenly feeling the urge to vomit. He emptied his stomach of bile a short way away before looking back at the body. It could have so easily been him, torso torn open and an expression of pained shock frozen on his face forever. A fleeting questioning ran through his mind. What was he doing here? Why was he doing this? Then he thought of his father, alone in a cell, miserable and at the mercy of the Dementors. He thought of his mother, nothing more than a broken body at Voldemort's feet... He couldn't let that happen. It was that kid’s own fault that he got in the way of a werewolf, after all. That death was on Greyback’s head. He steeled himself, and put the image of the dead student out of his mind before bounding up the stairs. He heard mumbling voices just before he threw open the door. He walked towards Dumbledore, his wand pointed at the old grey wizard.

“Good evening Draco.” Dumbledore sounded relaxed, as if it were just any other day. “What brings you here on this fine spring evening?”

“Who else is here?” Draco looked around, half expecting to see someone, and half not. “I heard you talking!”

“I often talk aloud to myself,” Dumbledore mused as if it were perfectly normal. “I find it extraordinarily useful... Have you been whispering to yourself, Draco?” He gave a long pause, and his voice turned almost-fatherly. “Draco, you are no assassin.”

“How do you know what I am? I've done things that would shock you!” _I looked at the body of a child and didn’t think twice._

“Oh, like cursing Katie Bell hoping that in return she'd bear a cursed necklace to me? Like replacing a bottle of mead with one laced with poison to give me, Draco? I cannot help feeling that these actions are so weak, that your heart can't really have been in it.”

“It has been in it...” He trailed off for a moment before resuming. “And he trusts me; I was chosen!”

“... Then I shall make it easy for you.” He raised his wand.

Draco hesitated only a moment.

_“EXPELLIARMUS.”_

“Very good, very good...” Dumbledore mused, as if this were a NEWT evaluation. “You're not alone. There are others here with you—something I admit I thought impossible to accomplish... How did you do it?”

“The Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, I've been mending it all year.”

“Let me guess. It has a sister; a twin?”

Draco swallowed. Was this a distraction? “In Borkin and Burke's. They form a passage.”

“Ingenious...”

It sounded like genuine praise... something he admittedly never expected to receive, least of all from the other side.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was!”

“But there were times, weren't there, when you weren't sure you would succeed in mending the cabinet?”

Draco felt brilliant blue eyes boring into his own, and he fidgeted.

“And you resorted to crude and poorly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands, poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink—”

“Yeah, well, you still didn't realize who was behind that stuff, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I was sure it was you.”

“Why didn't you stop me then?” _I wanted you to stop me. I wanted you to know, even though I couldn’t tell you. I wanted you to care, to care about me, about my family._

“I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders—”

“He hasn't been doing _your_ orders.” Draco snapped. “He promised my mother—”

“Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but—”

_You did a worse job of that if you were trying, than I ever imagined._

“He's a double agent, you stupid old man! He isn't working for you, you just think he is!”

“We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It just so happens that I trust Professor Snape—”

Draco was losing patience at this point, and he near-yelled, “Well, you're losing your grip, then! He's been offering me plenty of help—wanting all the glory for himself—wanting a bit of the action—'What are you doing?' 'Did you do the necklace; that was stupid, it could have blown everything—'“ He took a calming breath.

Dumbledore allowed the pause to rest in the night.

“But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement!” Draco blinked, and strengthened his duelling posture. “H-he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll be all over and he won't be the Dark Lord's favourite anymore!”

There was the sound of glass breaking, of spells being fired off and general destruction in the halls. Draco's breath faltered for just a moment as the image of the mauled Slytherin flitted through his mind again.

“S-someone's dead.” His own voice sounded hollow. “One of yours. I don't know who; it was dark. I stepped over the body. I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way.”

“Yes, they do that... Draco, years ago I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you.” His voice sounded concerned, almost... Well, it was a little late for_ that_, wasn’t it?

“I don't want your help!”

_I do._

“Don't you understand? I _have_ to do this!”

_I don’t want to do this._

“I _have_ to kill you...”

_I wanted you to catch me._

“...Or he's going to kill me...”

_I wanted you to rescue me. _

He steeled himself and aimed his wand....

A new voice, shrill and saccharine, cut through the silence. “Well! Look what we have here. Well done, Draco.”

“Good evening Bellatrix.” Dumbledore rumbled with the same annoying flippant pitch in his voice. “I think introductions are in order, don't you?”

The witch gave him a false, insane smile. “Love to, Albus. But I'm afraid we're on a bit of a tight schedule...” She turned to Draco, and he nearly flinched under a very obvious _why haven’t you killed him already_ expression. “Do it!”

Greyback snorted in amusement. “He doesn't have the stomach. Just like his father. Let me finish him in my own way.”

“NO! The Dark Lord was clear, the boy is to do it!...” She rested her hand on Draco's shoulder, and the boy visibly shuddered. “This is your moment; do it!”

Draco closed his eyes.

_Save me._

...

Harry watched everything unfold from just below the deck of the tower... Albus had bundled him under the Cloak of invisibility and shoved him under the stairs. He’d shimmied out from under it as the Death Eaters scrambled up the stairs. He heard everything, and he had his wand pointed squarely at Draco, ready to take him out if he so much as touched a _hair_ on Dumbledore’s head.

Then he heard a quiet hush, and turned on his heel to see Snape, his finger over his lips to caution against speech.

...

_Just trust me. Just this once_

...

Harry stayed his wand, and Severus swept up the stairs.

...

_Save me._

Her hissing voice felt altogether too close to his head. “Go on Draco! NOW!”

“_No_.” Draco immediately dropped his arm and turned on point to see Snape in the doorway... In a way, he was upset, but in the same breath, he was glad that his silent plea had been answered. Snape moved forward evenly, like a great big inkblot of a man.

...

Albus looked at Severus earnestly. “Severus. Please.” A vow brushed the back of his consciousness.

...

_“I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?”_

_..._

_“You must be the one to kill me.”_

_“Shall I do it now, or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?”_

_..._

_“And my soul, Dumbledore? What of _it_?”_

_..._

_“And so the boy... the boy must die?...”_

_..._

_“You have kept him alive, so that he can die at the right moment?”_

_“Don’t be so _shocked_, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”_

_“_Lately_, only those whom I could not _save_.... You have _used_ me, Albus.”_

_“Meaning?”_

_“_Meaning_,that I have _spied_ for you, and _lied_ for you, and put myself in mortal danger for you, on _numerous_ occasions. All this, was _supposed_ to be to keep Lily Evans’ son safe. _Now_ you tell me that you have been raising him like a, like a _pig_ for the _slaughter_!”_

_“But this is touching, Severus. _Have_ you grown to care for the boy after all?”_

_..._

“Avada Kedavra!”


	26. The Pieces We Pick Up

_“The Carrows never rumbled how we were communicating, it drove them mad. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls: _Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting_, stuff like that. Snape hated it.”_

_“You... used to?”_

_“It got more difficult as time went on. We lost Luna at Christmas, you know, and Ginny didn’t come back after Easter. The three of us were sort of the leaders... The Carrows seemed to know I was behind a lot of it, so they started coming down on me hard, and then Michael Corner went and got caught trying to release a first year they’d chained up.” _

...

“Please, sir...”

The boy was dangling from his wrists on an inclined table... Alecto was standing in the corner, overseeing the interrogation, while Malfoy stood guarding the door.

This dungeon was ancient. It was made of cobblestone, and there was an inch of dust covering every surface in here. Snape would have guessed that it was an original feature of the castle, back when this sort of thing was commonplace.

“Filch caught you, absolutely red handed, tagging the walls outside the Slytherin dormitory. You must be in contact with Longbottom, and so you must know where he is.”

“...”

Snape heard a sound from behind him, and looked at Michael Corner, who was tied up in similar fashion. The young man had just barely woken up from an obvious blackout, but he was stirring and awake enough to glare at Snape through a swollen black eye.

“L-leave him alone. He doesn’t know anything. He’s like _Draco_. He’s just a kid who doesn’t know what he’s into. I’m the one. And I’m not telling you anything.”

Draco snorted from his station by the door. All the same, there was a flicker of something across his eyes...uncertainly...guilt, even, as Snape rounded on Corner.

“Is that so,” Snape growled.

For being tied up and clearly half-starved, Michael’s expression was icy steel. Then he spat.

Snape didn’t so much as blink, but he walked to the far corner with a curt nod to Alecto as she stepped forward.

The Headmaster’s mind was clearly roaring through thoughts at a breakneck speed, and his face was a poorly-thrown-on facade as he wiped it. He nodded to Draco, and the boy opened the door. A handful of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw second years were immediately bundled into the cell by Amycus Carrow.

The looks on their faces were a jumble of terror and panic as they saw the two prisoners... Corner was visibly worse off of the two. He had been very clearly beaten, and if Alecto was anything to go by, there were probably a host of worse things inflicted that were invisible to the naked eye. Atkins, meanwhile, mostly just looked ravenously hungry and impossibly indignant.

“Last class period we spent time looking at the written aspect of Dark Magic, and you were promised a practical quiz in the near future. Thanks to these two, lovely young lads, you now have that opportunity.”

Snape gave a nod’s regard to Amycus before ducking out of the cell-turned-Dark Arts Classroom.

As he was walking away, he heard a distinct screech from Atkins: “Don’t think about it, do it! Do it, you ignorant Hufflepuff coward!”

The casting of the Cruciatus was a sloppy and clearly terror-filled affair, but it was done. The little Hufflepuff would pass this time without punishment or wrath, Snape noted as a bloodcurdling scream echoed down the dungeon hallway.

...

“Hey. Q. How, how are you holding up?” Michael glanced over at the younger Ravenclaw, who was curled up in the corner of the cell, rubbing his wrists.

“M’fine. I’m just…jus’ hungry. Thirsty. I’m tired too. ..My arms hurt something awful.”

Michael smiled. “I get it. Those shackles hurt. You know, we’re going make it out of here. And when we do, you’re going to get as many chocolate frogs and as much butterbeer as you can eat. My treat, you hear me?” He smiled at the younger boy, who remained silent a moment. “Quincy?... Did you hear me?”

“I… I did, I just… I miss my mom and dad. Emily. It was enough to… to be away from them for the semester, but…” He gave a heavy sigh. “I miss my parents, my sister.”

“I miss my family, too. But, we’ll make it out of here and we’ll get you home, alright? You can be with your family again.”

“…”

“Do you believe me?”

“N-not really, I don’t.” He turned around to look at Michael with a worried glance. “Did you hear what Alecto said… she plans to, to just keep us here, until semester’s end, or until we… ‘aren’t useful anymore’.”

“She said that to scare you. Look, we’re not going to die in here. I can promise you that.”

“And, what, we’ll be like Neville’s parents?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Q.”

“Mike… I’m not a Gryffindor, I… I’m really scared.”

“Alright… well, just… try to sleep, alright?”

The younger boy nodded, and turned around to face the wall.

_The night is all too short._

…

Minerva McGonagall walked through the hallways of Hogwarts, thinking to herself as she bore a care package for Dumbledore’s Army. Things had devolved considerably since winter holiday. The Carrows had effectively taken over, and the entire school seemed to always be on lockdown. She counted herself lucky to be allowed out of her office at night. Though knowing how Filch suckered up to the Carrows, she often wondered how long that would last for.

She stood at the entrance to the hallway, and steeled herself. _I need to know, where they’re hidden._

She saw a door shimmer into place, and he swept up to it, bearing a bag filled with supplies. Food was a non-issue, since Aberforth was pro-rebellion, but the other supplies, medicine most specifically, were a bit harder to come by. Minerva knocked, and stepped back a single step, offering the bag forward.

A voice called from behind. It was very clearly Corner’s, but it sounded older—older than it had any right to be. Minerva could just barely make his silhouette out in the dim light of the windows… He still looked sallow. He opened the door slightly more.

After a considerable period of interrogation, Corner and Atkins had been released to the general student body. They’d been hiding here with Neville Longbottom and the other members of the DA since. None of the students were trained healers, so Madame Pomfrey made care packages with potions and instructions to the young rebels. From what circulated on the grapevine, Corner was in a bad way as it was, and Atkins was probably going to St. Mungo’s the moment Pomfrey had an opportunity to spirit him away. Even coordinating with Severus, who was vaguely wise to the situation and still yielded that killing children was excessive, trying to smuggle an entire wizard off the grounds of Hogwarts was a great deal more difficult than Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley made it appear…

“Package, from Madame Pomfrey,” Minerva said simply, holding out the bag filled with elixirs and herb mixes.

Michael looked both ways down the hall, before swiping the box, a quiet fury in his expression. “You weren’t followed, yes?” His words were measured, suspicious, as if he had to coax them to come out.

Minerva shook her head, and Michael allowed her into the room.

The room was dark, lit by a few meager lamps at the moment. It was night, and most of the children staying here were sleeping in their hammocks. She noted with some dismay the conditions… It looked like they were veterans of war, hunkered down in their trench. Perhaps they were in a way, but it was discouraging nonetheless.

Michael walked to the far side of the room, where Neville Longbottom hovered over a small form on a mat… It appeared to be Atkins, impossibly smaller since the last time Minerva saw him.

Neville looked up, and a tired smile spread over his bruised and battered face. “Greetings, Professor,” he said as he stood and outright gave Minerva a hug. “We’re glad you’re here.” He released her, and knelt back down, taking supplies from the care package and immediately administering some of them.

“How bad is it, Neville?”

“We run low on everything. We’re confined here, unless it’s to Hog’s Head…’ He looked down a moment, looking a great deal older than just eighteen. “We constantly fear for our lives… Not much to be said. How is Harry?”

“When last I was informed, he was still on the run, but had a good lead.”

“He’s… coming back, though,” Michael interrupted. “He _is_ coming back for us, to liberate the school and defeat You-Know-Who, _isn’t he_?” Minerva struggled hard to quiet her mind’s immediate alarm that the young man seemed more accusatory than hopeful.

“I… would like to _think_ so, yes.”

Michael’s face went from determined crestfallen, and he slumped down to sit against the wall. “You don’t know for certain, though.” He brought shaky hands to his forehead in a tired, emotionally strung-out gesture. “He’s not… oh god, he’s not coming back.”

“We must keep hope, Mister Corner.”

Michael had his face buried in his forearms as he mumbled, “That’s a bit of a tall order for us around here.”

Neville suddenly shifted from his crouch as Atkins’s face lapsed into recognition and the dazed expression left him. He tried to sit up but only barely made it. The boy managed to lean against Neville. Then the shadow of confusion passed back over his face, and he slumped down, shuddering violently and clearly in a great deal of distress. The first-year’s breath came in ragged, tear-laden gasps, and Neville cradled him tightly in his arms.

“Some hex they put on him,” Neville explained to McGonagall in a low voice. “Until a healer finds a way to break it, he can’t feel anything.”

Michael shifted onto his knees, and went for the box of supplies. He poured a small bottle of potion onto a cloth and pressed it onto a rather grievous and clearly magical wound on Atkins’ arm. The boy seemed unaffected.

“Things… things have to change, Professor.” Corner’s expression had transitioned back into a demand. “Potter has to come back, so we can take back the school, and this can finally be over.”

Minerva sighed slightly and kneeled down. “I can’t make any promises, Mister Corner. But I can tell you, don’t give up on Harry Potter.”

The boy in Neville’s arms seemed to have momentarily regained conscious thought, and bright blue eyes peeked out warily but tiredly from under Neville’s protective embrace.

Michael looked at the boy for a moment, then back to McGonagall. “Ma’am, _we_ never gave up on Harry Potter… I just hope _he_ hasn’t given up on _us_ yet.”

…

“Muggles killed left and right, Muggleborns rounded up like dogs in the street, Aurors murdered… And here on this very campus, students nearly killed, others maimed… It seems… out of control. Everything is out of control… Your move.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, Severus. I don’t have my finger on the pulse of both sides of this war.”

“Did you know that the _editor_ for the treatise was arrested?”

“The editor? I thought you said you were going to publish through an American company, for fear that the Ministry would censor the book too heavily.”

“I _did_, but they_ arrested the American. _Check.”

“Was it because of the content of the book? Presumably not for the book, since you’re still here.”

“No, it was for alleged conspiracy, and magic theft. A strictly muggle-born crime, might I add… Also your confidence in me is _touching_.”

“But of course, Severus… And I would assume that the Americans didn’t take well to the idea of one of their nationals held captive on false charges, did they?”

“As I am aware, the man has managed to send out several messages to MACUSA detailing the current processes of Wizarding justice in Britain, and international outrage is at a record high.”

“Though I’m not certain I want to know… Have any nations come to our defense at all?”

“Presently, the ICW has delivered an ultimatum to the Ministry—Resolution Phoenix No. 8 has made it quite clear that the moment the Dark Lord kills the boy, Britain as wizards know it shall cease to exist. The rest of the Wizarding World is arming for war… War against us, should the Dark Lord succeed at his task. Of course, I suppose we should count ourselves rather fortunate.”

“Fortunate? I fail to see _how_, Severus. Check.”

“Whoever is invested in keeping Harry Potter alive will be dead long before any invading wizard sets foot on British soil.”

“Small comforts. What of the Ministry, the Death Eaters—are they taking the Resolution seriously?”

“They’re much too interested in hunting Muggle-borns to think anything of International invasion forces. When last reports went out, the imprisoned Muggle-borns number well into the hundreds… and about twice that number of sympathizers killed: wizards and Muggles alike.”

“I saw that… And, I’m certain you saw the Auror who was killed last week. A familiar name, to be certain.”

“Atkins?... Yes. It is…regrettable that he and his family found themselves on the wrong end of the Ministry, but admittedly unavoidable… Inquiries would have been made either way into their affiliation with the new Order of the Phoenix. In fact, it’s probably for the better that the Ministry decided on an execution. Long-term coercion is _unimaginably_ worse than swift death…”

“I suppose so...”

“…”

“What is it, Severus?”

“…. Doubts. Should we all really be allowed within a hundred miles of a school? Since the return of the Dark Lord, can we honestly say, that keeping Hogwarts running is the better decision? Students poisoned, cursed, tortured, the Headmaster killed… Lives are being changed as we speak… yet all I can ever see from here in this office, are prophecies and promises—conflicting oaths to two different sides of the Wizarding war unfolding before me.”

“Severus, I understand your distress, but someone-”

“_You_ get to see things closely; _you_ have the luxury of being able to _care_… All I’m ever able to do is orchestrate from above. All I’ve _ever_ been able to do is play Dumbledore’s _godforsaken chess game_, and I’m _tired of it_. I was tired of it _before_ he passed this game on to me to finish, and I _hate it now more than ever. _I _hate_ being the one who decides these things! I resent living above in an ivory tower so that I can move these people into schemes only to watch them die at my feet, and not be expected to care, because it’s ‘all part of the game’! _H_e was good at this sort of thing, but I _detest it_!”

“…. I suppose our game is over, then… I’ll clean up.”

“I don’t _want_ this task anymore, Minerva. I don’t _want_ to decide who lives and dies. Having so much responsibility for the endgame… and none to those whose lives this game destroys… I don’t want to be Dumbledore.”

“Ah, well, I think that you _both_ are forgetting something.”

“Oh, Dumbledore, I didn’t see that you were awake. How long have you been listening in?”

“Long enough to understand the situation, Minerva… Severus, sometimes it takes the perspective of a man above, too high above the rest to care about them, to make the decisions that need to be made to achieve victory. How would we play chess if we knew that each pawn had a family, each Bishop had a congregation, and the King and Queen loved each other?”

“I didn’t _ask_ for a _painting’s_ _editorial_ on my _moral_ _decisions_, thank you, Dumbledore. Minerva, _don’t_ encourage him.”

“Another thing I have observed. Every child this year has come into Hogwarts knowing full well what is happening, more than any other generation before them.”

“What does that change _anything_?”

“_They’ve still come_, Severus, though they know full well that the situation is not some, some Mary Poppins, Babysitting Palooza. Far more than a school, this year Hogwarts is the hotbed of war, and yet the children still have come here. Every child has come into these doors knowing this. They know what is expected of them. Some have accepted it more than others. Others still, will be surprised by the consequences of their stands. The fact is the same: they all know what is at stake.”

“They’re just _children_, they shouldn’t _have_ to make those sorts of decisions yet, and we shouldn’t make those decisions for them!”

“He has a point, Dumbledore.”

“Though I am but a painting on a canvas… ultimately we must defeat the Dark Lord at all costs. All the blood spilt on our hands will still be there eternally, and the lives that are changed, we still have a responsibility to them. We simply must decide if the lives that we save are worth the ones we destroy. That can only be decided by one’s own consci—MMF!”

“Severus!”

“I _don’t_ want to hear it, Minerva, I hate hearing him prattle on!”

“Where are you going?... Severus!”

“… He simply needs time to cool off, Minerva…. Now, will you kindly remove his cloak from over my face? I can’t see a thing.”

…

Minerva was on high alert as she escorted Harry and Luna through Hogwarts’ halls— she’d already seen one man tortured today, even if he’d insulted her, the point remained the same. Hogwarts needed to be evacuated immediately… everything up until now had risen up to a head. Tonight was the night. Tonight was the night they stood… or died trying. As they walked, she heard a second set of footsteps, and immediately slipped her wand out in dueling fashion.

“Who’s there?”

“It is I.”

Severus seemed to melt forward out of the shadows and a slight chill ran through Minerva. He was clearly in a stance to battle, and he seemed to know precisely what was going on. His dark eyes drifted from her to the children under the invisibility cloak and back again… He clearly knew what was going on.

“Where are the Carrows?”

“Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus,” Minerva answered him evenly.

He took a single step forward, but the menace it carried was incredible.

“I was under the impression that Alecto has apprehended an intruder,” Snape said with a dangerous measure about his tone.

“Really?... And what gave you that impression.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed and he opened and closed his left hand slightly—anyone not looking might have missed it.

“Oh, but of course. You have your own private means of communication.”

_Minerva, the Carrows. Please._

_Unconscious, both. I’m sorry, Severus. It was unavoidable._

“I did not know that it was your night to patrol the corridor, Minerva.”

_Are the students safe?_

_We’re evacuating as we speak. Flitwick and Sprout are on their way. Unfortunately, this is a rather inopportune time._

_I see._

_…We’ve still got to keep up appearances._

_Must we? The Carrows are gone; I could find another way to depart Hogwarts._

“You have some objection?”

_I don’t want to fight you, Minerva. You’re my oldest friend. I do not wish to risk… anything._

_We’ll still be friends, Severus. _

“I simply wonder… what could have brought you out of your bed at this late hour?”

_We will?_

_Depending on how hard you hit me, yes, Severus._

Minerva smiled pleasantly at Snape. “I simply thought I heard a disturbance.”

_I entrust you with the fortification of Hogwarts… you understand what is at stake. If you die, we all die._

_I do, Severus._

_How long do you suppose we can keep this up?_

_I suppose I’ll hex you… if you ask about Harry._

_I see. I shall leave you with care for the defense of Hogwarts, then._

_Very well._

“Really?... but all seems calm.”

_Severus, one last thing… do try to not die when you meet with Tom._

_We shall see, Minerva. I shall try…Thank you… for everything._

“… Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I really must insist—”

_You’re welcome, Severus. And, I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a question for everyone: Would any of you like to possibly see more of Quincy Atkins in another Harry Potter fiction? Furthermore, the question arises, would you prefer it if it were a full-length fiction, or just a one-or-two-shot?


	27. The Things We Leave Behind

The seventh and final year…. The last year. It represented a thorough failure of all cautions and safeguards. It was chaotic and wild and unpredictable, and Severus spent his days, worried constantly.

Dumbledore was gone, save for the portrait that prattled on about plans to defeat the Dark Lord, and Harry was on his own. Though he had the Granger girl and the youngest Weasley boy… Severus couldn’t help but think of Harry as being alone, fighting an insurmountable threat. Severus oughtn’t to have worried. Fate was on Harry’s side, and had been from the beginning.

Severus ought to have worried more about the condition of Hogwarts. It was horrendous. Despite Severus making it quite clear to the Dark Lord that he was capable of handling the school on his own, Voldemort had insisted that the Carrows be assigned to teach as liaisons from the Ministry. Meanwhile, the dreadful little whelp _Umbridge_ took to arresting and torturing Muggleborns instead of minors. It really just figured very neatly.

By the end of the year, civil war was at hand, and invasion loomed ominously in the distance. The school was barely a school anymore, and a great deal more like a prison. Severus found himself continuously at odd ends with the Carrows, though he took most of the blame for anyone who ended up tortured or maimed accidentally or intentionally.

Still, he knew that life was a ticking clock. For the past two years, his actions had been nothing but broken oaths, and broken oaths were always to be answered for in blood. He broke his oath to Narcissa (Thanks, Harry) when Draco nearly bled out on the floor of the boys’ bathroom. He broke an oath to Dumbledore the moment the Carrows began to torture students… There were many oaths to be paid for, and all would be paid for in spilt blood, as was the way of Magic.

Severus didn’t mind the idea of dying, if he were honest. It was only a matter of if he could manage to set in motion, a foolproof plan that would allow a winning game… It was, of course, a long shot. Fate was coming for him, and would certainly not take no for an answer, but perhaps he would have time to win this war, and if he was lucky, even win back Harry.

It was a long shot. He could wish, he supposed.

Appearances bade him condemn Neville, interrogate student after student, and allow his dreams to be thoroughly haunted by the screams of terrified children. It was thoroughly lovely to be awoken at any hour of the night to hear the Carrows tormenting some poor plaything they’d dragged in for detention. The Hufflepuffs now mostly hid in their common rooms, only driven to action on occasion by Gryffindors or outright hunger. Even some young Slytherins showed doubts, though they were kept on even tighter reigns than the other houses. The fear in the halls was almost palpable.

Even resident-sadist Argus Filch admitted that things were taken a bit too far… It was either because of the threats on his life made by a furious First-Year (that quite frankly was fully capable of becoming reality due to the new Dark Arts training)… Or it was because the Carrows didn’t leave any room for him to have much fun, him being a Squib, and all.

When Harry showed up, it seemed as though everything was coming to a head…

After Snape fled Hogwarts, Minerva had a minor crisis that her place was now far less of a professor than a war general over a small army, preparing to fight for life and limb. It had been, of course, in the back of her mind for some time. Severus had long since explained to her that since Dumbledore was gone, and since Snape would have no choice but to flee Hogwarts before he got within a mile’s distance of Harry, Minerva would eventually have to take up the helm of Hogwarts to lead the students in defense of the school. For years Minerva had thought that if she eventually became Headmistress, it would be something tame, with Dumbledore resigning and a simple transfer of authority.

She didn’t honestly expect murder and intrigue… though, she supposed, knowing the prophecy it really had no way of turning out particularly sedate, now did it? Of course not. Being in the position and time they were in, of course the world would be turned upon its ear and then some, leaving the most often reluctant to act in the greatest capacity. Such was the way of things.

She had never been a warrior, specifically. She was a teacher first, by trade and by desire. She had always been capable and relatively ambitious for a non-Slytherin, always desiring to excel at whatever she put her mind to… but she wasn’t some general over armies. She was capable of many things but never saw fit to do them. After all, while she’d always _wanted_ to summon huge and _powerful_ stone golems to the aid of Hogwarts, she really didn’t want to _have_ to do so.

Minerva took a deep breath as she wordlessly sent up her part to the joint _protego_ spell that everyone was presently contributing to. In just a few minutes, the world would turn on its ear and they would see just how close to the apocalypse they really were. The answer, of course, was _too close for comfort_, but they would just have to see.

…

_“What lasting impressions, do you think that 1998 ultimately left you with,” the newswitch said as her quill raced over the paper at nearly the speed of thought itself._

_“Aside from the obvious ones?” The younger man laughed briefly in spite of himself, and brought his firewhiskey to his mouth with a visibly shaking hand. _

_“I suppose, _obviously_,” she said in clear jest._

_“I have no… hard feelings towards Slytherin house. I, I really don’t. See, I can’t… there were just so many kids, and, you know, not all of them were Inquisitors… A lot of them had nothing to do with it.” he set the glass down, though his hand and arm continued to shake until he rested it on the table. Even then it clearly wished to tremor. _

_The quill paused for a moment, and, clearly wanting to take note, ‘looked’ up at its mistress, who gave it a silent nod._

_“They weren’t all bad. I mean, if it came down to it, anyone who even tried to… to disagree with the leadership… Well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and it’s wrong to… to expect sixth-year Gryffindors out of second-year Slytherins. I mean, there’s always choices to make, and the most rational decisions aren’t always the ones that people might consider to be… morally superior, I guess.”_

_The quill paused briefly, and crossed out an apparent error before resuming._

_“We got… enough help, from Slytherin house. None of them formally joined the DA, but they never needed to—because it was a much better use for the littles to stay in their common room. By Merlin, it’s how the R.o.R. stayed a secret in the first place. I was never _in_ the Slytherin Common Room, when all of that was going on, but I can just about tell you for certain that it would have to have been a hotbed for intrigue and backstabbing. And you know what they say about Slytherins.”_

_ “If you need to spy, or to lie, or to hang someone to dry—”_

_“Look no further than a snake,” they finished the statement together and shared a mirth-filled laugh._

_A bit more somber, Michael continued. “There was, only one Slytherin I remember who went really out of her way to help. She, uh, I don’t really know what happened to her. She just sort of, vanished without a trace. I looked for her afterward, but it was as if she was… just erased from existence. I suspect that deterred a lot of open support.”_

_“More than likely,” the newswitch agreed._

_“But again, it’s not something you can expect out of just anyone. Yes, there are brave people in any house, but… I guess what I’m trying to say, is that demanding bravery… demanding anything, out of anyone, isn’t good. It’s not fair to them. Even in wartime, it’s not fair to demand things out of people who don’t understand what they’re supposed to be fighting for.”_

_“I, wholeheartedly agree. Thank you for your time, Mr. Corner.”_

_“You are, very welcome.”_

…

_“Mr. Atkins, Mr. Atkins; I was just wondering, if you had a bit of time for an interview?”_

_“An… interview? What sort? My work presently is not up for discussion.”_

_“Oh, of course it isn’t sir, I understand. But actually, I was wondering, if… well, it’s the tenth anniversary of the end of the Great Wizarding War. I would be so very grateful, if you could share a few thoughts about how you plan to celebrate?”_

_“Celebrate? I’m happy enough to be ten years distanced from that nonsense… Has it already been _ten years_?... my god it feels like it was practically yesterday.”_

_“Yes, it’s been ten years… which, I suppose, is both, a lot of time and not very much time at all in the big scheme of things.”_

_“Hm, yes… now, I am actually quite busy, so what, precisely, do you want?”_

_“I suppose: What lasting impressions, do you think that 1998 ultimately left you with?”_

_“… no comment.”_

_“None at all?”_

_“No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have a battery of tests that needs running, and, as much as I’d like it, they won’t actually run themselves.” _

_“Oh, ah, of course.”_

_…_

Draco had been sitting on a ledge looking out at the summer garden through his opened upstairs window. It was so bright and cheery outside… how did it manage to feel like he was dying of hypothermia in here? The warmth of summer seemed to die just barely outside of reach. Whether it was some sort of magical ward or—it seemed halfway more likely—some sort of curse, Draco didn’t know. He just knew he was miserable and he wished that he could get a bit warmer in his room.

At least his food was still warm. He took a few bites before staring wistfully out the window again. Father had escaped from Azkaban just a few days earlier, but things hadn’t gotten any better for it. In fact, it felt as though all order in the house had disintegrated under the Dark Lord’s confiscation of Malfoy Manor. At least he was allowed to eat in his room now… but that was only because Father hadn’t the mind to deny the Dark Lord the request that Death Eaters be served refreshments at their leisure.

Father seemed… changed after Azkaban. He wasn’t so neatly trimmed, cared less for his appearance than before… Considering that he often woke yelling in the night, much to the frustration of the other Death Eaters, Draco supposed he had other things to be dealing with than the state of his stubble. He didn’t hold his head so high, and he seemed to cave more to the Dark Lord… or, Draco supposed, Father _dodged_ the Dark Lord’s attention far more.

Draco sighed, and ran his fingers across his bare chest, feeling at the slightly raised scars that showed as dark ribbons that laced across his pale skin. The scarring was supposedly incredibly light for the wounds he received at Potter’s wandpoint, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. The scars were mostly external and caused him no pain—even though the curse had scored straight through his chest, deflating both lungs almost instantly, cleaving his sternum into two, and cutting several ribs into smaller pieces, and almost perforating his small intestine, thanks to Snape’s rapid wandwork and Madame Pomfrey’s expertise, there was no scarring on any internal organs. Of course, it was quite close there for awhile. Harry had evidently only _barely_ missed a handful of major arteries in his arms and torso. That, of course, would have been_ thoroughly_ disastrous, rather than only mildly disastrous.

He sighed deeply.

How did things become so insane?...

It seemed like just a couple of days ago, Harry and he were playing at dueling in the garden. They’d poked at dueling in Lockhart’s class, of course…. But this was different. In the boys’ bathroom, they’d done it for real. He’d tried to kill Harry, and Harry had nearly succeeded at killing him. Draco sniffed lightly and rubbed at his eyes, which he _swore_ weren’t getting moist.

Where did everything just go to hell in a Howler?

It might have been when Harry chose that whelp _Ron_, and Hermione over him. He wasn’t _jealous_, per-say, but it did hurt still. It might have been when Harry got sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, and Draco realized that maybe they weren’t as close as they thought.

Father always said that sometimes friends drift apart, and it’s alright when that happens…. Father reasoned that they’d been drifting apart for years before Harry finally broke off that last contact… But Draco knew seven-year-old him would have never guessed in a million years that he would try to kill his best friend. Seven-year-old him would never have guessed that Harry would have torn him asunder with a single spell. It still happened

Of course, maybe it was just something that couldn’t have been avoided. Maybe it was something decided upon before he was born, when the Dark Lord first rose and fell, maybe that was where this was coming from, and he and Harry were caught in the middle of this whole mess. Maybe there was a sort of solidarity in that. He didn’t like that idea. Potter _was_ arrogant and a blithering idiot for what it was worth. He wasn’t at all clever, and he usually just stumbled into his successes and then got praised like the morning light. Potter wasn’t all _that_ special. For that matter, from what Bellatrix gloated about night and day, Draco found himself with a begrudging, distanced admiration for _Longbottom_ more than Potter, because at least Longbottom didn’t wax poetic about his terrible life as the Chosen One.

Draco bit his bottom lip and slipped his fingers beneath the now-empty plate, flipping it and flinging it across the room to smash against the wall. A House Elf popped into his room nervously, and he growled at it angrily as it gathered the parts of the broken plate before disappearing to the kitchen again.

Draco rested his head on his hands. Potter had his friends, and an entire school’s worth of people looking out for him, just because there was some precious prophecy about him. It figured, he supposed.

A knock at the door roused him from his thoughts and he stood up, his long slacks draping the floor as his bare feet touched the cool wood. “Yes,” he asked.

The door handle turned and faster than lightning Draco whipped a white buttondown off a nearby chair. “Can I at least get a shirt—fu—_hold on_,” he snapped he thrust his arms through the sleeves and the door swung open.

“Draco, I apologize. I didn’t, _realize_,” the unmistakable voice rasped.

He had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he began to button his shirt up. “Look, I know, that _my_ house is _your_ house right now…” his voice lowered into a plaintive hiss, “—but you really shouldn’t just waltz into my room whenever you want to!”

The Dark Lord gave him a look that wasn’t familiar with, but really didn’t like. It was somewhere between pity, amusement, and something unidentifiable.

“But of _course_, Draco: whatever you desire. You and your family have been so very… _accommodating _to us, it is only fair that we, as guests, _respect_ your wishes.”

Draco sighed lightly, and resisted the urge to tremble as the Dark Lord began to circle him. As if. He knew that he and his family had fallen thoroughly out of favour with the Dark Lord, and the other Death Eaters as well. He could see no way that this could end well. More than likely this was just a courtesy visit to let Draco know just how close to the axe’s edge the Malfoy family was. “Was there, something you wanted?”

“Only to speak to you, Draco…To ensure that you understand your role in the coming months. Perhaps, give you a chance to improve your standing.” He gave a smile: something that looked so very wrong on that face and Draco could barely hide his straight-up revulsion.

“I… know that my task is to assist the Carrows. I am to… help them enforce the new laws that will be set forth on Hogwarts.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I _meant_,” Voldemort said as he rested a hand on Draco’s shoulder and pulled him to look out the window. “You see your family’s property, yes?”

Draco nodded tightly. The hand on his shoulder felt so _wrong_, and he wanted nothing more than to get away. “I see it.”

“I do not expect your parents to live through the school year, Draco, and should that happen, you are their sole benefactor, and will inherit the lands and this house.”

“I… don’t know what to say,” Draco managed out, swallowing a bit nervously at where this conversation was going. “I… would really rather them not have to die, sir.”

“But of course. Still, you must be prepared, to take up the mantle your parents leave behind, to defend your house and those in it. You must be prepared, Draco. Many will stand against me after I defeat Potter, I must know that you are committed. You must be committed, far more than your father is, or your mother. I must know that you can be trusted to get the work done. I need to know if you’ve the nerve to stand by my side when the time comes.”

Draco’s mind bit out, _you’ll ditch me as soon as you can, just like you ditched my parents._ Aloud: “Of-of course I’ll stand by you. Where else is there to go,” he said with a dead smile and a humorless laugh. “I just… what can I do, to show that you can rely on me?”

The Dark Lord’s face was amused. “You are far more honest than the others. The others grovel at my feet for attention, like dogs… You… you know what you desire. It is… Admirable.”

Draco’s blood ran cold at that last word. It was loose praise, laced with a calculating tone, as if deciding whether Draco was a threat. Obviously, Draco couldn’t do anything to the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord could still view him as a threat… a rival. For the sake of literally everything Draco knew and loved, that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“I am with you, my liege. What—what do you wish, just ask, please sir, I’ll do it.”

“You will assist the Carrows, yes.” It was more of an observation than a demand. “But when you do, I expect to hear them, and Snape, give _glowing_ reports of you,” the Dark Lord said in a near-hiss. “You must go over and beyond, ensure compliance and fear in the populace… You must prepare them for my arrival. Make it clear to them what happens to _all_ who oppose my will.”

Draco blinked. “I-I will, sir. I will,” he stammered. “There will be order when you arrive, I’ll make certain of it.”

Voldemort seemed to give a slight nod… far less trusting and assured than Draco liked. It seemed less confident, and more evaluating, as if he were a professor who had delivered final exams. It made Draco shiver slightly: this test would have to be one he got the highest of marks on, for his own safety.

In a light tone that seemed to forget the veiled threat he had just laid on Draco’s mind: “If you are with me, your holdings will not stop at the gates of the property. I can give you lands far beyond your sight, and then some. You may rule an entire nation, if you so desire,” Voldemort brought Draco closer to his side in a half-hug and Draco for his part only barely managed to not panic.

“I… don’t know if I’d want an entire nation, sir” Draco managed out, and Voldemort looked quizzically at him.

“Well, you don’t have to rule an entire country,” he said, his voice unbelievably casual for how he’d just threatened Draco’s family. “I could give you a handful of cities instead, or perhaps a territory once we’ve carved up America sufficiently. Perhaps you’d prefer the West Coast… Ah, you like that, don’t you? I can tell these things.”

Draco suppressed a bitter smile… before biting back a yelp as he felt a hand at the nape of his neck, and cold, clammy fingers fiddling about in his hair. He stammered out, “Y-yes, I… I-I think I’d like that.”

“Excellent...”

…

“Narcissa, Darling… have you seen Draco?” Lucius stood in the doorway, watching a few moments as his wife put down, whatever it was she was working on— it looked to be some sort of magic weaving— and turned to look at him.

“No— I haven’t seen him since he went to the kitchens an hour ago… he seemed a bit angry as well.”

“Alright, I’ll check there, then.” He leaned back away from the doorway, and nonchalantly made his way through the Manor, which happened to be crawling with Death Eaters. He made his way into the kitchens, only to be met by a blast of muggy, hot air. It was stifling, and he had to resist the urge to leave straight away.

“I want to know,” he called over the sound of the tireless elves, “If anyone has seen my son today!”

Most of the elves gave him hasty, ‘No sir, sorry sir’s, and went back about their business.

One elf however, was disposing of what looked like the remnants of a broken plate into the kitchen.

“What happened here,” he asked, half-expecting that Bellatrix had taken to destroying the china.

“O-oh,” the elf stammered. “Master Draco, accidentally broke a plate, he did.”

“I see... Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s still in his room, sir.”

Lucius bit back a growl, and strode purposefully out of the kitchen, making straight for Draco’s room. He walked up the stairs, and came to a stop just outside the half-closed door. He was about ready to knock on the door, to give Draco warning of his arrival, when the door opened quickly, and Lucius nearly started, seeing the Dark Lord practically glide out, his clothing making him seem like a great big shadow moving of its own accord..

“What are— my lord. I did, I thought, make it quite clear, that _no one_ except my son is permitted to enter his room.”

Voldemort gave an airy, humorless laugh. “Oh, Lucius. If you think you can _intimidate_ me, you are sorely mistaken.” He silently slipped his wand out of his pocket, and traced Lucius’ jaw dangerously with its business end. “You cannot tell me where I may and may not travel. Do you understand?”

“…”

The bone wand stopped at the soft fleshy spot between his chin and neck, and _pressed_. “Do you understand, Lucius?”

“Y-yes,” the man said hastily, averting his gaze in deference.

“Excellent,” the Dark Lord mused conversationally, his temper having been sated and now halfway down the hallway. As he watched Voldemor depart, Lucius rubbed a gentle finger soothingly over the point where the wand had been, suddenly acutely aware of his own mortality. He then turned to the door.

Lucius knocked on it lightly, before hearing a tired, ‘Come in,’ from beyond the dense wood.

He slowly opened the door, to find Draco sitting on the window well of his room, his shirt hanging loosely on his shoulders. He was scratching absently at the scars on his chest as he stared at a nondescript point in the distance.

“What happened here?”

“Nothing,” Draco said, thoroughly distracted.

“I asked you a question. I expect it sufficiently answered.”

Draco didn’t even bother to make eye contact, still scratching at his chest.

“What happened to the plate.”

“Sorry. I had it on the ledge and accidentally dropped it when I got up.” Draco said so smoothly and reflexively, Lucius wasn’t certain if it was a lie or not.

“Why did the Dark Lord visit you?”

Draco shrugged again. “Threats. Affirmations… The normal, I guess.” He shifted slightly, and Lucius got a glimpse of his other hand.

“Is that _blood_?” Lucius was at his son’s side in a instant, turning Draco’s reluctant hand over, to find that yes, it was covered in blood that was rapidly drying. He flicked his wand over Draco’s hand, and the blood vanished, to reveal… nothing. No cuts or puncture wounds… So where had the blood come from?

Lucius looked up at Draco, whose teeth were grit and who was actively trying to pull his hand away.

“Draco, _what_ happened. Did he injure you?”

“I’m fine,” Draco spat as he stood, pushing past his father, and working hastily to button up his shirt. Draco’s hands were shaking as he did so, but he was clearly trying to act as though there was no issue.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Look, _what _do you care? You’ve _never_ cared about me getting hurt before now! Why start?”

“…”

“…Where’s mom?”

Lucius blinked and felt at a thorough loss for a moment, before answering numbly, “She’s in her study.”

Draco gave a tiny nod, before walking gingerly to his door, stopping for just a moment before he turned down the hallway. “You’re_ welcome_ by the way,” he spat out without bothering to hide the venom in his voice.

…

Climbing through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack was a challenge… it hadn’t seemed so cramped last time. Harry felt Hermione tug at his ankle, and hiss, “The cloak, put it on!” as she stuffed the Cloak into his hands. It was a challenge to get in soundlessly with a crate blocking the way, but they managed it, and came into a dimly lit room. He could see Nagini being held in a suspension bubble a few feet above the floor, Voldemort was sitting at a table at a nearby wall, though thankfully Harry was out of his line of sight, period. Meanwhile, he spotted Draco laying on the floor in the corner of the other side of the room, terrified eyes looking at the opposite wall, which just happened to be where Harry was beneath the Cloak. Upon a second glance, it seemed as though he were under a thorough paralysis spell.

“My Lord, their resistance is crumbling—” Harry’s breath hitched as he realized Snape was standing only a few inches away from their hiding place.

“—And it is doing so, without your intervention,” came that high and unmistakable voice. “Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much of a difference at this point.”

“Let me find the boy,” Snape said smoothly. “Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please.”

Snape walked forward, and Voldemort stood, delicately swinging the elder Wand in his ling, pale fingers..”I have a problem, Severus.”

“My Lord?”

“_Why_ does it refuse to work for me, Severus?” He gave a sigh that Harry almost could have mistaken for a pout.

“My Lord? I do not understand,” Snape said, clearly at a loss. “You have performed extraordinary magic with that very wand.”

“No,” Voldemort snapped. “I have performed my _usual_ magic. _I_ am extraordinary, Severus, but this wand,” he glared at it, half perplexed. “No. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander… _No difference_, Severus,” Voldemort said, his voice dangerously even. Harry’s forehead began to throb violently as he felt Voldemort’s rage build.

“I have thought long and hard, Severus… Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?”

“No, my Lord, but I beg you let me return. Let me find Potter.”

Voldemort let out a humorless, deadly laugh. “You had far long enough to do _that_.” He shook his head. “You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. I know his fatal flaw, you see. He hates to watch others suffer, struck down around him, knowing that it is only for him that all of this happens. He will desire to stop it, and he will come to us.”

“But, Potter might be killed accidentally in the battle, by someone other than yourself—“

“My instructions to the others were quite clear, Severus. Kill Potter’s friends, but do not touch a hair on his head…. You see, Severus, it is of _you _I wished to speak, not Harry Potter. You have been valuable to me, Severus, however my concern is not with finding Potter, but what will happen when I finally meet the boy.”

“My Lord, surely there can be no question—“

“Oh, but there _is_ a question, Severus. Why did both wands I have used, fail when directed at Harry Potter?”

“I… I cannot answer that, my Lord.

“Oh, can’t you?”

The pain from Voldemort’s rage was blinding, and Harry nearly fell, with Hermione grabbing him and forcing her hand to cover his mouth and nose so no sound escape. He felt her hold him fast, and he clenched his eyes shut as agonized tears slipped down his cheeks. In that moment, he didn’t see the cloth of the Cloak, instead he was looking through Voldemort’s eyes at Snape’s face, which seemed even paler than it usually was.

“My wand of yew did all I asked of it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed at this. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, and to take another wand. Lucius’ wand, chattered upon meeting Potter’s.”

“I—I have no explanation, my Lord.”

Snape’s gaze was now clearly not on Voldemort, and rather on Nagini, coiled in her protective bubble.

“I sought a third wand: the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny… the Deathstick I took it from the grave of its previous owner, Albus Dumbledore…”

Snape’s face was deathly pale and still as he turned back to Voldemort.

“My Lord… Please allow me to go to the boy—”

“All night, I have sat here, wondering why the wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner… and I think I have the answer.”

“…”

“Perhaps you already know, Severus. You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, Severus… and I fully regret what must happen.”

“My lord—”

“The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who defeats the last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore, so while you live, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine… It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand; master the wand, and I master Potter at last.”

Voldemort slashed his wand through the air, and Harry’s scar sent blinding pain rocketing through his head. Hermione still held him fast as Harry blinked the pain away and flashes of Snape’s stunned face burned into his mind as he blinked the pain away.

For a split moment before he fell, Snape wasn’t looking at Voldemort, or even at Nagini. No, his eyes were, for the tiniest moment as he collapsed, on the far side of the room.

…

“I want you to understand, Draco,” Snape said evenly. “If we fail, we die at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix, if we succeed, we also die. You die, your family dies, your property seized and burned, there will not be a _stone left standing_.”

“But… won’t the Dark Lord be unstoppable once he obtains the Elder Wand. Won’t _we_ be unstoppable?”

“No, we _won’t_,” Severus spat. “When the ICW comes for us, and trust me, it _will_… those wizards will not care about dueling etiquette or glory. They will be interested in one thing, and one only. They intend to kill every Death Eater they can find, no matter what they have to do to find them.”

“They…” Draco looked a bit stunned as he pieced the ideas together. “They’ll kill everyone?... What if, what if we’re not with the Death Eaters? Will they kill people we know?”

Severus tipped his head. “Everyone who bears the mark will be in danger.” He sighed and added, “Your parents make their own decisions. You won’t be able to save them if they stand with the Dark Lord on that day.”

“R-right…” The boy’s expression was distant and fixated on a nondescript spot beyond the wall.

“Draco… you must answer this question, and you must be honest.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Did you disarm Dumbledore, on top of the Astronomy Tower? Is that why his wand was not with him?”

Draco’s attention came back to the present. “Y-yes. I did. He… He was going to cast a spell, but… but I stopped him.”

“I see. Thank you, Draco. You… may go back to your Common Room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this chapter; I was meaning to post, but things sort of got in the way.


	28. Chapter 28

He liked the Fall. He liked the Fall, so much more than he liked the Spring or Summer or Winter. During Fall, his robes didn't seem quite as stifling as they did in the Spring, and and the bitter cold didn't seep into every which place in a drafty castle or a cold dungeon as it did in Winter. He wasn't at home, like he was in Summer. It was just Fall in the Highlands. The dewy grass was pleasantly cool but not quite _cold_, and everything just seemed so serene and peaceful as he sat there at six in the evening beneath the old oak as the golden sun set over the mountaintops.

He was busy scribbling notes from his potions textbook into one of his notebooks... each stroke was precise and each drawing perfectly matched the diagrams in the textbook. He already had an entire _stack _of notebooks on potions and charms, and it didn't look as though that number would get smaller any time soon. It was only his third year.

A lock of long, dark hair fell from its perch tucked behind his ear, and he quickly pulled it back into place with his off hand, not missing so much as a beat as his quill continued to fly across the paper, completely oblivious to the beautiful fall Saturday that was upon the school. He still liked it that way. He liked studying, enjoyed being the best in class.

“You'd better be careful there, Sev. You're going to make that quill start smoking.” He smiled as he heard a light laugh. His hair fell back across his face but he didn't bother with it this time.

He glanced upwards to see fiery red hair and brilliant, soft green eyes like chips of emerald playfully gazing back at him. He smiled. “Evening, Lily,” he said, his voice cracking only a little bit. “How are you today?”

Lily sat down next to him cross-legged, and ran her hands over the long grass. “I'm fine. But weren't _you _planning to come to dinner?”

“I rather think I'm fine right _here_, actually,” Severus mumbled, looking back down and continuing to write in his notebook.

“Sev—”

“Look at how the sun just shines over the lake when it sets,” he said quickly, jerking his head upwards and looking out over the water. “Isn't it beautiful?”

Lily looked at him, her eyes gentle and her mouth turned upwards in a knowing smile. She gently drew his hair back behind his ear, and tsked at a nasty gash at his hairline. “Fighting with Potter again?”

“I'd hardly call four against one a _fight_,” Severus growled. “More like a _slaughter_. They locked me in a wardrobe.” He shook his head and sighed. “I hit my head on the way in.... But I put wound cleaning potion on it straight away.”

Lily covered her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh as she sat down next to him, and leaned her head against his arm. Finally, she let out a little giggle.

“I don't see what could... _possibly_ be so amusing about _that_.”

“You, fighting James Potter _and_ Sirius Black and only managing to just hit your head on the way into a _wardrobe_,” she said, still chuckling. “It could have been a lot worse; they're a lot bigger and stronger than you, Sev—”

“That was made _acutely_ poignant to me the last time they dunked my head in the john, _thank_ you for noticing.”

“You never let me _finish_,” she said, sitting up a bit straighter before playfully smacking his shoulder. “I was _going to say_ that they're a lot bigger and stronger than you, _and_ I think that you're... kind of brave to be going up against that toerag of a boy, Potter.”

“Wha—really?” Severus flushed a bright pink as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Lily let out a giggle and nodded. “Yeah. But don't you go off letting that compliment go up to that big brainy head of yours,” she said seriously. “You _still_ need to stop hanging around your _own_ little squad of Dark Wizards, you know.”

“Mulciber and Avery aren't _that_ bad,” Severus countered. “Besides, when they’re around, Potter doesn't _dare_ try any funny business.”

Lily gave a tiny sigh as she shifted her weight. “Well, I don't want to see you killed by Dark Magic.”

“You can't be killed by something you can _control_...” He only added the ‘_most of the time_,’ under his breath.

“All the same, I don’t think they’re all that good for you… please do _try_ to be careful?...”

“I will, I will.”

She looked up at him and gravely said, “_Promise_ that you'll be careful.”

Severus gave a tiny smirk and turned slightly to look at her. “I swear it on my honourable Slytherin name, and the name of the Half-Blood Prince.”

“OK,” Lily said, clearly still not buying it. “But just to make _sure _you remember...” She leaned forward, and placed a tiny peck on his cheek. “Now that _only _counts if you _promise_ to be careful, alright?… And I’ll be in the Great Hall if you change your mind about dinner!”

...

From the tip of his wand, a graceful silver doe appeared, seemingly excited to be freed from the wood. She landed on the office floor, and pranced about happily before stopping before Severus, then bounded across the office and soared out the window.

“Lily,” Dumbledore said, partly in wonder, partly in question, partly in incredulity. “After all this time?”

“_Always._”

...

It was a letter. It was just a letter.

And yet Severus kept it in a locked box, alongside a few other important trinkets and items from many years past.

It was an old letter; more specifically, an ancient sort-of-Howler. The seal was broken, the message delivered, and yet still preserved inside the letter for whoever chose to open it.

Severus had been beyond thrilled when he'd received it. Of course, by that time he had a child to take care of, but nonetheless.

_“Severus, if you're listening to this, then I'm probably gone now. The Dark Lord has found us, and... well, I'm guessing you know more than I do at this point. But I did want to write to you, and to ask if maybe, just maybe we can be alright again?_

_“Sev, if James and Harry survived, please take care of them. Either one. I know that you were never fond of James, but the big oaf will need _someone_. Sirius will probably take it upon himself, but if you would, just keep an eye on James, for me?”_

_“Finally, if, by some circumstance, Harry alone has survived the Dark Lord's hunt for him... Please look after him, Sev. I know that you aren't a bad man at heart, just a little... lost. Keep him safe, for me?.... Promise me that you'll look after him and protect him.”_

...

“What's that, Harry?”

Harry blinked, then glanced at Hermione, who had been rummaging through a box while the Howler played. She'd come back with what looked like a wand but her interest was now on the letter itself.

“I... I think it's a letter that my mum wrote to Snape.”

Hermione smiled gently. “She had a very pretty voice.”

“Yeah, she did, didn't she?” He smiled bitterly. “It... she asked Snape to protect me. I don't... I don't know why he never told me about this.”

“Maybe he didn't want you to know? Didn't want things to be any more awkward than they were already? I mean, he _was_ in love with your mum before she chose your dad, right?”

Harry sighed. “I guess. I just wish he'd trusted me more. I would have liked to have heard my mother's voice when I was young, you know.”

“I know,” Hermione said with a gentle smile. “But he did his best, right? It's not like he left you in the cupboard with the Dursleys or anything.”

Harry made a face. “I don't even know if that was true or not. I mean I know that they're jerks, but it was all hearsay. I don't know if they ever actually kept me in a cupboard.”

There was a long pause while Harry considered the letter, before Hermione interrupted the silence. “How do you suppose Snape came into possession of a fancy wand like this? It looks custom made. Look at the engraving. _Polyagamiméni parakaló lávete aftó to dóro, Eínai i thlípsi mas_.” She shook her head. “It must have cost him a small fortune to have made.”

Harry glanced at the wand before taking it gingerly into his hand. “Snape told me about this when I was littler... _Dearly beloved, please receive this gift; it is our sorrow._ It's made of willow; I guess the same willow that he met my mother under.” He sighed. “I'll keep it, for sentimentality.” His hand absently went to the leather necklace that had the vial of Snape's memories inside of it, as well as the tiny piece of enchanted paper that unfolded into a will.

“Alright,” Hermione nodded wisely. “I'll put it in the Keep basket.” She went back to the box. “Oh, here's more pages of potions notes. Slughorn will probably want those...”

Harry remained silent for some time, just fiddling with his necklace. “Part of me still wonders, though” he said at last and Hermione noticed the quietness that had blanketed the small room. “I know Snape could make a Patronus, because of the doe in the forest... but… I wonder what the memory was to go with it. He never told me what it might have been.”

Hermione shrugged. “We'll never know now I guess, will we?”

“No, I suppose we won't.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your support- it means a great deal to me and I can't thank you enough.  
Nevertheless, all things, even the good things, must eventually come to an end. This particular tale has reached its last chapter, but I'm rather loathe to call it an END by any means.  
At any rate, thanks again for reading; it's been a really wild ride.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will update semi-regularly. It might not be daily, but if I have anything to say about it, it will be more often than weekly. That is all.


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